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Chapter 08 Test Bank: Chemical Bonding

Student: ___________________________________________________________________________

1. Which of the following compounds is likely to have covalent bonds?

A. NaCl
B. LiF
C. CO
D. CaBr2
E. MgO

2. Which of the following compounds is likely to have covalent bonds?

A. MgS
B. KF
C. SO2
D. SrCl2
E. RbF

3. Which of the following compounds is likely to have covalent bonds?

A. LiBr
B. CsF
C. BaCl2
D. Cr2O3
E. NO2

4. Which of the following compounds is likely to have covalent bonds?

A. CaBr2
B. OF2
C. NaF
D. BaBr2
E. LiCl

5. Which of the following substances has bonding best described as ionic bonding?
A. SiO2
B. TiO2
C. SO2
D. CO2
E. O2

6. Which of the following substances has both ionic and covalent bonding?
A. NaCl
B. Cl2
C. MgO
D. MgCO3
E. None of these

7. Which image(s) in the figure represents an ionic compound?

A. I only
B. II only
C. III only
D. IV only
E. I and IV

8. Which image(s) in the figure represents a compound that contains covalent bonds?
A. I only
B. II only
C. II and III
D. II, III, and V
E. V only

9. Which image(s) in the figure represents an ionic compound?

A. I only
B. II only
C. III only
D. IV only
E. I and IV

10. Which image(s) in the figure represents a compound with covalent bonds?
A. II only
B. III only
C. IV only
D. II and III
E. II, III, and V

11. Which of the following compounds is likely to occur as a gas at room temperature?
A. CaF2
B. CH4
C. MgO
D. FeCl3
E. LiF

12. Which of the following compounds is likely to occur as a gas at room temperature?
A. CaF2
B. MgS
C. NO2
D. NaF
E. CoCl2

13. Which of the following compounds is likely to occur as a solid at room temperature?
A. CH4
B. SO2
C. CaCl2
D. CO2
E. H2O2
14. Which of the following compounds is likely to occur as a solid at room temperature?
A. PH3
B. NO2
C. MgCl2
D. SO2
E. ClO2

15. Which of the following compounds is likely to have a relatively high boiling point?
A. CoCl3
B. NH3
C. CO
D. NO2
E. CH4

16. Which of the following compounds is likely to have a relatively high boiling point?
A. PH3
B. FeCl3
C. NO
D. SO2
E. C2H6

17. Which of the following elements is the most electronegative?

A. carbon
B. silicon
C. nitrogen
D. oxygen
E. lithium

18. Which of the following elements is the most electronegative?

A. H
B. S
C. F
D. Cl
E. P

19. In which of the following bonds does nitrogen have a partial negative charge (–)?
A. N–C
B. N–O
C. N–F
D. N–N
E. None of these

20. In which of the following bonds does hydrogen have a partial negative charge (–)?
A. H–F
B. H–B
C. H–C
D. H–H
E. None of these

21. In which of the following molecules does oxygen have a partial positive charge (+)?
A. O2
B. OF2
C. H2O
D. MgO
E. None of these

22. Using periodic trends, arrange the following atoms in order of increasing electronegativity: Cl, Si, Ga, Sr
A. Cl < Si < Ga < Sr
B. Si < Ga < Sr < Cl
C. Si < Cl < Ga < Sr
D. Sr < Ga < Si < Cl
E. Sr > Ga < Cl < Si

23. Using periodic trends, arrange the following atoms in order of increasing electronegativity: F, O, S, As
A. F < O < S < As
B. As < O < S < F
C. As < S < O < F
D. S < As < O < F
E. S < As < F < O

24. Using periodic trends, arrange the following atoms in order of increasing electronegativity: Se, Cl, Mg, Na
A. Se < Cl < Mg < Na
B. Na < Mg < Cl < Se
C. Mg < Na < Se < Cl
D. Se < Mg < Na < Cl
E. Na < Mg < Se < Cl

25. Using periodic trends, arrange the following atoms in order of increasing electronegativity: S, Sr, P, Cs
A. S < Sr < P < Cs
B. S < P < Sr < Cs
C. P < Cs < Sr < S
D. Cs < Sr < S < P
E. Cs < Sr < P < S

26. Which of the following molecules contains the most polar bonds?
A. F2
B. OF2
C. NF3
D. BF3
E. CF4

27. Arrange the following bonds in order of increasing polarity: C-O, C-C, C-N, C-F
A. C-O < C-C < C-N < C-F
B. C-N < C-O < C-F < C-C
C. C-F < C-O < C-N < C-C
D. C-C < C-N < C-O < C-F
E. C-C < C-O < C-N < C-F

28. Arrange the following bonds in order of increasing polarity: F-F, F-C, F-O, F-N
A. F-F < F-C < F-O < F-N
B. F-F < F-O < F-N < F-C
C. F-O < F-N < F-F < F-C
D. F-N < F-O < F-F < F-C
E. F-N < F-C < F-O < F-F

29. Arrange the following bonds in order of increasing polarity: Cl-S, Cl-P, Cl-Si, Cl-Cl
A. Cl-S < Cl-P < Cl-Si < Cl-Cl
B. Cl-S < Cl-Si < Cl-P < Cl-Cl
C. Cl-Si < Cl-S < Cl-Cl < Cl-P
D. Cl-Cl < Cl-S < Cl-P < Cl-Si
E. Cl-Cl < Cl-P < Cl-Si < Cl-S

30. Arrange the following bonds in order of increasing polarity: O-H, C-H, F-H, H-H
A. O-H < C-H < F-H < H-H
B. C-H < O-H < F-H < H-H
C. H-H < C-H < O-H < F-H
D. C-H < H-H < O-H < F-H
E. H-H < C-H < F-H < O-H

31. Arrange the following bonds in order of increasing polarity: H-Cl, H-I, H-Br, H-F
A. H-Cl < H-I < H-Br < H-F
B. H-Cl < H-Br < H-I < H-F
C. H-F < H-Cl < H-Br < H-I
D. H-I < H-Br < H-Cl < H-F
E. H-I < H-Cl < H-Br < H-F

32. The Lewis symbol for F is:

A. A
B. B
C. C
D. D
E. E

33. The Lewis symbol for Mg is:

A. A
B. B
C. C
D. D
E. E

34. The Lewis symbol for S is:

A. A
B. B
C. C
D. D
E. E

35. The Lewis symbol for C is:

A. A
B. B
C. C
D. D
E. E

36. The Lewis symbol for N is:

A. A
B. B
C. C
D. D
E. E

37. The Lewis symbol for O2– is:

A. A
B. B
C. C
D. D
E. E

38. The Lewis symbol for P3– is:

A. A
B. B
C. C
D. D
E. E

39. The Lewis symbol for Ba2+ is:

A. A
B. B
C. C
D. D
E. E

40. The Lewis symbol for Al3+ is:

A. A
B. B
C. C
D. D
E. E

41. The formula for calcium sulfide is:

A. Ca2S
B. CaS2
C. CaS
D. Ca2S2
E. Ca2S3
42. The formula for aluminum chloride is:
A. AlCl
B. AlCl2
C. Al2Cl3
D. AlCl3
E. AlCl4

43. The formula for aluminum oxide is:

A. AlO
B. Al2O
C. AlO2
D. Al3O2
E. Al2O3

44. The formula for calcium nitride is:

A. CaN
B. Ca2N
C. CaN2
D. Ca3N2
E. Ca2N3

45. Which of the following statements regarding ionic compounds is incorrect?

A. Ions are held together in an ionic lattice by electrostatic attractions.
B. The crystal structure of a given compound will depend on the sizes and number of ions in a formula unit of the compound.
C. Ionic compounds tend to have low melting points.
D. Ionic compounds are formed when a metal and a nonmetal react.
E. In forming an ionic compound, one element transfers one or more electrons to another element.

46. Which of the following statements regarding ionic compounds is incorrect?

A. In many ionic compounds, a metal accepts electron(s) from a nonmetal.
B. Ionic compounds tend to have high melting points.
C. Electrostatic attractions hold the ions together in an ionic lattice.
D. Ionic compounds must be electrically neutral.
E. The formula of an ionic compound will have the simplest possible whole-number ratio of the ions to each other.

47. Which of the following statements regarding covalent bonding is incorrect?

A. In covalent bonding, electrons are shared between two atoms.
B. Most elements try to acquire an octet of electrons in their valence shell when bonding.
C. Hydrogen only requires two electrons in its valence shell when bonding.
D. Covalent bonds occur between a metal and a nonmetal.
E. It is possible for two atoms to share more than one pair of electrons.

48. Which of the following statements regarding covalent bonding is incorrect?

A. All atoms in a Lewis structure will have eight electrons around their element symbol.
B. Covalent bonds occur between two nonmetals.
C. Two atoms may share up to three pairs of electrons.
D. Carbon typically forms four bonds.
E. The elements which exist as diatomic molecules do so in order to achieve a stable electron configuration.

49. Draw the Lewis symbol for NaBr.

A.
B. Na-Br
C. Na-Br:
D. :Na-Br:

E.

50. Draw the Lewis symbol for MgCl2.

A. Cl-Mg-Cl

B.
C. Mg-Cl-Cl
D. :Cl-Mg-Cl:

E.

51. Draw the Lewis symbol for CaO.

A. A
B. B
C. C
D. D
E. E

52. Draw the Lewis symbol for K2O.

A. A
B. B
C. C
D. D
E. E

53. How many single bonds are typically formed by the element C?
A. 1
B. 2
C. 3
D. 4
E. the number of bonds varies

54. How many single bonds are typically formed by the element N?
A. 1
B. 2
C. 3
D. 4
E. the number of bonds varies

55. How many single bonds are typically formed by the element O?
A. 1
B. 2
C. 3
D. 4
E. the number of bonds varies

56. Identify the main-group element X that could form the compound

A. C
B. O
C. N
D. F
E. P
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this poor beast!”
Then he rushed out of the little building, and remembering the way he
had come, turned in the direction of the breach in the wall, and walking
quickly towards it, found it, climbed over the stones, and was again outside
the park. But his further passage was barred, for there in front of him was
the figure of a man, who stood waiting, with a drawn sword in his hand.
Thibault recognised the Comte de Mont-Gobert, the Comte de Mont-Gobert
thought he recognised Raoul de Vauparfond.
“Draw, Baron!” said the Count; further explanation was unnecessary.
Thibault, on his side, equally enraged at having the prey, on which he had
already set tooth and claw, snatched away from him, was as ready to fight
as the Count. He drew, not his sword, but his hunting-knife, and the two
men crossed weapons.
Thibault, who was something of an adept at quarter-staff, had no idea of
fencing; what was his surprise therefore, when he found, that he knew by
instinct how to handle his weapon, and could parry and thrust according to
all the rules of the art. He parried the first two or three of the Count’s blows
with admirable skill.
“Ah, I heard, I remember,” muttered the Count between his clenched
teeth, “that at the last match you rivalled Saint-Georges himself at the
foils.”
Thibault had no conception who Saint-Georges might be, but he was
conscious of a strength and elasticity of wrist, thanks to which he felt he
might have rivalled the devil himself.
So far, he had only been on the defensive; but the Count having aimed
one or two unsuccessful lunges at him, he saw his opportunity, struck out,
and sent his knife clean through his adversary’s shoulder. The Count
dropped his sword, tottered, and falling on to one knee, cried “Help,
Lestocq!”
Thibault ought then to have sheathed his knife and fled; but,
unfortunately, he remembered the oath he had taken as regards the Count,
when he had found that his horse had been hamstrung. He slipped the sharp
blade of his weapon under the bent knee and drew it towards him; the
Count uttered a cry; but as Thibault rose from his stooping posture, he too
felt a sharp pain between his shoulder-blades, followed by a sensation as of
extreme cold over the chest, and finally the point of a weapon appeared
above his right breast. Then he saw a cloud of blood, and knew no more.
Lestocq, called to his master’s aid as the latter fell, had run to the spot, and,
as Thibault rose from hamstringing the Count, had seized that moment to
dig his hunting knife into his back.
 CHAPTER XVIII

DEATH AND RESURRECTION

T HE cold morning air brought Thibault back to consciousness; he tried to

rise, but the extremity of his pain held him bound. He was lying on his
back, with no remembrance of what had happened, seeing only the low
grey sky above him. He made another effort, and turning managed to lift
himself on his elbow. As he looked around him, he began to recall the
events of the previous night; he recognised the breach in the wall; and then
there came back to him the memory of the love meeting with the Countess
and the desperate duel with the Count. The ground near him was red with
blood, but the Count was no longer there; no doubt, Lestocq, who had given
him this fine blow that was nailing him to the spot, had helped his master
indoors; Thibault they had left there, to die like a dog, as far as they cared.
He had it on the tip of his tongue to hurl after them all the maledictory
wishes wherewith one would like to assail one’s cruellest enemy. But since
Thibault had been no longer Thibault, and indeed during the remainder of
the time that he would still be the Baron Raoul, or at least so in outward
appearance, his demoniacal power had been and would continue in
abeyance.
He had until nine o’clock that evening; but would he live till then? This
question gave rise in Thibault to a very uneasy state of mind. If he were to
die before that hour, which of them would die, he or the Baron? It seemed
to him as likely to be one as the other. What, however, disturbed and
angered him most was his consciousness that the misfortune which had
befallen him was again owing to his own fault. He remembered now that
before he had expressed the wish to be the Baron for four and twenty hours,
he had said some such words as these:
“I should laugh, Raoul, if the Comte de Mont-Gobert were to take you by
surprise; you would not get off so easily as if he were the Bailiff Magloire;
there would be swords drawn, and blows given and received.”
At last, with a terrible effort, and suffering the while excruciating pain,
Thibault succeeded in dragging himself on to one knee. He could then make
out people walking along a road not far off on their way to market, and he
tried to call to them, but the blood filled his mouth and nearly choked him.
So he put his hat on the point of his knife and signalled to them like a
shipwrecked mariner, but his strength again failing, he once more fell back
unconscious. In a little while, however, he again awoke to sensation; he
appeared to be swaying from side to side as if in a boat. He opened his eyes;
the peasants, it seemed, had seen him, and although not knowing who he
was, had had compassion on this handsome young man lying covered with
blood, and had concocted a sort of hand-barrow out of some branches, on
which they were now carrying him to Villers-Cotterets. But by the time they
reached Puiseux, the wounded man felt that he could no longer bear the
movement, and begged them to put him down in the first peasant’s hut they
came to, and to send a doctor to him there. The carriers took him to the
house of the village priest, and left him there, Thibault before they parted,
distributing gold among them from Raoul’s purse, accompanied by many
thanks for all their kind offices. The priest was away saying mass, but on
returning and finding the wounded man, he uttered loud cries of
lamentation.
Had he been Raoul himself, Thibault could not have found a better
hospital. The priest had at one time been Curé of Vauparfond, and while
there had been engaged to give Raoul his first schooling. Like all country
priests, he knew, or thought he knew, something about doctoring; so he
examined his old pupil’s wound. The knife had passed under the shoulder-
blade, through the right lung, and out between the second and third ribs.
He did not for a moment disguise to himself the seriousness of the
wound, but he said nothing until the doctor had been to see it. The latter
arrived and after his examination, he turned and shook his head.
“Are you going to bleed him?” asked the priest.
“What would be the use?” asked the doctor. “If it had been done at once
after the wound was given, it might perhaps have helped to save him, but it
would be dangerous now to disturb the blood in any way.”
“Is there any chance for him?” asked the priest, who was thinking that
the less there was for the doctor to do, the more there would be for the
priest.
“If his wound runs the ordinary course,” said the doctor, lowering his
voice, “he will probably not last out the day.”
 “You give him up then?”
“A doctor never gives up a patient, or at least if he does so, he still trusts
to the possibility of nature mercifully interfering on the patient’s behalf; a
clot may form and stop the hemorrhage; a cough may disturb the clot, and
the patient bleed to death.”
“You think then that it is my duty to prepare the poor young man for
death,” asked the curate.
“I think,” answered the doctor, shrugging his shoulders, “you would do
better to leave him alone; in the first place because he is, at present, in a
drowsy condition and cannot hear what you say; later on, because he will be
delirious, and unable to understand you.” But the doctor was mistaken; the
wounded man, drowsy as he was, overheard this conversation, more re-
assuring as regards the salvation of his soul than the recovery of his body.
How many things people say in the presence of sick persons, believing that
they cannot hear, while all the while, they are taking in every word! In the
present case, this extra acuteness of hearing may perhaps have been due to
the fact that it was Thibault’s soul which was awake in Raoul’s body; if the
soul belonging to it had been in this body, it would probably have
succumbed more entirely to the effects of the wound.
The doctor now dressed the wound in the back, but left the front wound
uncovered, merely directing that a piece of linen soaked in iced water
should be kept over it. Then, having poured some drops of a sedative into a
glass of water, and telling the priest to give this to the patient whenever he
asked for drink, the doctor departed, saying that he would come again the
following morning, but that he much feared he should take his journey for
nothing.
Thibault would have liked to put in a word of his own, and to say himself
what he thought about his condition, but his spirit was as if imprisoned in
this dying body, and, against his will, was forced to submit to lying thus
within its cell. But he could still hear the priest, who not only spoke to him,
but endeavoured by shaking him to arouse him from his lethargy. Thibault
found this very fatiguing, and it was lucky for the priest that the wounded
man, just now, had no superhuman power, for he inwardly sent the good
man to the devil, many times over.
Before long it seemed to him that some sort of hot burning pan was being
inserted under the soles of his feet, his loins, his head; his blood began to
circulate, then to boil, like water over a fire. His ideas became confused, his
clenched jaws opened; his tongue which had been bound became loosened;
some disconnected words escaped him.
“Ah, ah!” he thought to himself, “this no doubt is what the good doctor
spoke about as delirium;” and, for the while at least, this was his last lucid
idea.
His whole life—and his life had really only existed since his first
acquaintance with the black wolf—passed before him. He saw himself
following, and failing to hit the buck; saw himself tied to the oak-tree, and
the blows of the strap falling on him; saw himself and the black wolf
drawing up their compact; saw himself trying to pass the devil’s ring over
Agnelette’s finger; saw himself trying to pull out the red hairs, which now
covered a third of his head. Then he saw himself on his way to pay court to
the pretty Madame Polet of the mill, meeting Landry, and getting rid of his
rival; pursued by the farm servants, and followed by his wolves. He saw
himself making the acquaintance of Madame Magloire, hunting for her,
eating his share of the game, hiding behind the curtains, discovered by
Maître Magloire, flouted by the Baron of Vez, turned out by all three. Again
he saw the hollow tree, with his wolves couching around it and the owls
perched on its branches, and heard the sounds of the approaching violins
and hautboy and saw himself looking, as Agnelette and the happy wedding
party went by. He saw himself the victim of angry jealousy, endeavouring to
fight against it by the help of drink, and across his troubled brain came the
recollection of François, of Champagne, and the Inn-keeper; he heard the
galloping of Baron Raoul’s horse, and he felt himself knocked down and
rolling in the muddy road. Then he ceased to see himself as Thibault; in his
stead arose the figure of the handsome young rider whose form he had
taken for a while. Once more he was kissing Lisette, once more his lips
were touching the Countess’s hand; then he was wanting to escape, but he
found himself at a cross-road where three ways only met, and each of these
was guarded by one of his victims: the first, by the spectre of a drowned
man, that was Marcotte; the second, by a young man dying of fever on a
hospital bed, that was Landry; the third, by a wounded man, dragging
himself along on one knee, and trying in vain to stand up on his mutilated
leg, that was the Comte de Mont-Gobert.
 He fancied that as all these things passed before him, he told the history
of them one by one, and that the priest, as he listened to this strange
confession, looked more like a dying man, was paler and more trembling
than the man whose confession he was listening to; that he wanted to give
him absolution, but that he, Thibault, pushed him away, shaking his head,
and that he cried out with a terrible laugh: “I want no absolution! I am
damned! damned! damned!”
And in the midst of all this hallucination, this delirious madness, the
spirit of Thibault could hear the priest’s clock striking the hours, and as they
struck he counted them. Only this clock seemed to have grown to gigantic
proportions and the face of it was the blue vault of heaven, and the numbers
on it were flames; and the clock was called eternity, and the monstrous
pendulum, as it swung backwards and forwards called out in turn at every
beat: “Never! For ever!” And so he lay and heard the long hours of the day
pass one by one; and then at last the clock struck nine. At half past nine, he,
Thibault, would have been Raoul, and Raoul would have been Thibault, for
just four and twenty hours. As the last stroke of the hour died away,
Thibault felt the fever passing from him, it was succeeded by a sensation of
coldness, which almost amounted to shivering. He opened his eyes, all
trembling with cold, and saw the priest at the foot of the bed saying the
prayers for the dying, and the hands of the actual clock pointing to a quarter
past nine.
His senses had become so acute, that, imperceptible as was their double
movement, he could yet see both the larger and smaller one slowly creeping
along; they were gradually nearing the critical hour; half past nine!
Although the face of the clock was in darkness, it seemed illuminated by
some inward light. As the minute hand approached the number 6, a spasm
becoming every instant more and more violent shook the dying man; his
feet were like ice, and the numbness slowly, but steadily, mounted from the
feet to the knees, from the knees to the thighs, from the thighs to the lower
part of the body. The sweat was running down his forehead, but he had no
strength to wipe it away, nor even to ask to have it done. It was a sweat of
agony which he knew every moment might be the sweat of death. All kinds
of strange shapes, which had nothing of the human about them, floated
before his eyes; the light faded away; wings as of bats seemed to lift his
body and carry it into some twilight region, which was neither life nor
death, but seemed a part of both. Then the twilight itself grew darker and
darker; his eyes closed, and like a blind man stumbling in the dark, his
heavy wings seemed to flap against strange and unknown things. After that
he sank away into unfathomable depths, into bottomless abysses, but still he
heard the sound of a bell.
The bell rang once, and scarcely had it ceased to vibrate when the dying
man uttered a cry. The priest rose and went to the side of the bed; with that
cry the Baron Raoul had breathed his last: it was exactly one second after
the half hour after nine.
 CHAPTER XIX

THE DEAD AND THE LIVING

A T the same moment that the trembling soul of the young Baron passed
away, Thibault, awaking as if from an agitated sleep full of terrible
dreams, sat up in his bed. He was surrounded by fire, every corner of
his hut was in flames; at first he thought it was a continuation of his
nightmare, but then he heard cries of, “Death to the wizard! death to the
sorcerer! death to the were-wolf!” and he understood that some terrible
attack was being made upon him.
The flames came nearer, they reached the bed, he felt their heat upon
him; a few seconds more and he would be burned alive in the midst of the
flaming pile. Thibault leaped from his bed, seized his boar-spear, and
dashed out of the back door of his hut. No sooner did his enemies see him
rush through the fire and emerge from the smoke than their cries of “death
to him!” “death!” were redoubled. One or two shots were fired at him;
Thibault heard the bullets whizz past; those who shot at him wore the livery
of the Grand Master, and Thibault recalled the menace of the lord of Vez,
uttered against him a few days before.
He was then beyond the pale of the law; he could be smoked out of his
hole like a fox; he could be shot down like a buck. Luckily for Thibault, not
one of the bullets struck him, and as the circle of fire made by the burning
hut was not a large one, he was soon safely beyond it, and once again in
shelter of the vast and gloomy forest, where, had it not been for the cries of
the menials who were burning down his house, the silence would have been
as complete as the darkness. He sat down at the foot of a tree and buried his
head in his hands. The events of the last forty-eight hours had succeeded
each other with such rapidity, that there was no lack of matter to serve as
subjects of reflection to the shoe-maker.
The twenty-four hours, during which he had lived another existence than
his own, seemed to him like a dream, so much so, that he would not have
dared to take his oath that all this recent affair between the Baron, and the
Countess Jane, and the Comte de Mont-Gobert had really taken place. The
church clock of Oigny struck ten, and he lifted his head. Ten o’clock! and
only half-an-hour before he had been still in the body of the Baron Raoul,
as he lay dying in the house of the Curé of Puiseux.
“Ah!” he exclaimed “I must find out for certain what has happened! It is
not quite three miles to Puiseux and I shall be there in half-an-hour; I
should like to ascertain if the Baron is really dead.” A melancholy howl
made answer to his words; he looked round; his faithful body-guards were
back again; he had his pack about him once more.
“Come, wolves! come, my only friends!” he cried, “let us be off!” And he
started with them across the forest in the direction of Puiseux. The
huntsmen of the Lord of Vez, who were poking up the remaining embers of
the ruined hut, saw a man pass, as in a vision, running at the head of a
dozen or more wolves. They crossed themselves, and became more
convinced than ever that Thibault was a wizard. And anybody else who had
seen Thibault, flying along as swiftly as his swiftest wolf, and covering the
ground between Oigny and Puiseux in less than a quarter of an hour, would
certainly have thought so too.
He stopped at the entrance to the village, and turning to his wolves, he
said:
“Friend wolves, I have no further need of you to-night, and indeed, I
wish to be alone. Amuse yourselves with the stables in the neighbourhood, I
give you leave to do just what you like; and if you chance to come across
one of those two-footed animals, called men, forget, friend wolves, that
they claim to be made in the image of their Creator, and never fear to satisfy
your appetite.” Whereupon the wolves rushed off in different directions,
uttering howls of joy, while Thibault went on into the village. The Curé’s
house adjoined the church, and Thibault made a circuit so as to avoid
passing in front of the Cross. When he reached the presbytery, he looked in
through one of the windows, and there he saw a bed with a lighted wax
candle beside it; and over the bed itself was spread a sheet, and beneath the
sheet could be seen the outlines of a figure lying rigid in death. There
appeared to be no one in the house; the priest had no doubt gone to give
notice of the death to the village authorities. Thibault went inside, and
called the priest, but no one answered. He walked up to the bed, there could
be no mistake about the body under the sheet being that of a dead man; he
lifted the sheet, there could be no mistaking that the dead body was that of
Raoul de Vauparfond. On his face lay the still, unearthly beauty which is
born of eternity. His features, which in life had been somewhat too feminine
for those of a man, had now assumed the sombre grandeur of death. At the
first glance you might have thought he only slept; but on gazing longer you
recognised in that immovable calm something more profound than sleep.
The presence of one who carries a sickle for sceptre, and wears a shroud for
mantle was unmistakeable, and you knew King Death was there.
Thibault had left the door open, and he heard the sound of light footsteps
approaching; at the back of the alcove hung a serge curtain, which masked a
door by which he could retreat, if necessary, and he now went and placed
himself behind it. A woman dressed in black, and covered with a black veil,
paused in some hesitation at the door. The head of another woman passed in
front of her’s and looked carefully round the room.
“I think it is safe for Madame to go in; I see no one about, and besides, I
will keep watch.”
The woman in black went in, walked slowly towards the bed, stopped a
moment to wipe the perspiration from her forehead, then, without further
hesitation, lifted the sheet which Thibault had thrown back over the face of
the dead man; Thibault then saw that it was the Countess.
“Alas!” she said, “what they told me was true!”
Then she fell on her knees, praying and sobbing. Her prayer being ended,
she rose again, kissed the pale forehead of the dead, and the blue marks of
the wound through which the soul had fled.
“O my well-beloved, my Raoul;” she murmured, “who will tell me the
name of your murderer? who will help me to avenge your death?” As the
Countess finished speaking, she gave a cry and started back; she seemed to
hear a voice that answered, “I will!” and something had shaken the green
serge curtain.
The Countess however was no chicken-hearted woman; she took the
candle that was burning at the head of the bed and went and looked behind
the curtain; but no creature was to be seen, a closed door was all that met
her eye. She put back the candle, took a pair of gold scissors from a little
pocket case, cut off a curl of the dead man’s hair, placed the curl in a black
velvet sachet which hung over her heart, gave one last kiss to her dead
lover, laid the sheet over his face, and left the house. Just as she was
crossing the threshold, she met the priest, and drawing back, drew her veil
more closely over her face.
“Who are you?” asked the priest.
“I am Grief,” she answered, and the priest made way for her to pass.
The Countess and her attendant had come on foot, and were returning in
the same manner, for the distance between Puiseux and Mont-Gobert was
not much more than half-a-mile. When about half way along their road, a
man, who had been hiding behind a willow tree, stepped forward and barred
their further passage. Lisette screamed, but the Countess, without the least
sign of fear, went up to the man, and asked: “Who are you?”
“The man who answered ‘I will’ just now, when you were asking who
would denounce the murderer to you.”
“And you can help me to revenge myself on him?”
“Whenever you like.”
“At once?”
“We cannot talk here very well.”
“Where can we find a better place?”
“In your own room for one.”
“We must not enter the castle together.”
“No; but I can go through the breach in the park wall: Mademoiselle
Lisette can wait for me in the hut where Monsieur Raoul used to leave his
horse, she can take me up the winding-stair and into your room. If you
should be in your dressing-room, I will wait for you, as Monsieur Raoul
waited the night before last.”
The two women shuddered from head to foot.
“Who are you to know all these details?” asked the Countess.
“I will tell you when the time comes for me to tell you.”
The Countess hesitated a moment, then, recovering her resolution, she
said:
“Very well then; come through the breach; Lisette will wait for you in the
stable.”
“Oh! Madame,” cried the maid, “I shall never dare to go and bring that
man to you!”
 “I will go myself then,” said the Countess.
“Well said!” put in Thibault, “there spoke a woman worth calling one!”
And so saying he slid down into a kind of ravine beside the road, and
disappeared. Lisette very nearly fainted.
“Lean on me, Mademoiselle,” said the Countess, “and let us walk on; I
am anxious to hear what this man has to say to me.”
The two women entered the castle by way of the farm; no one had seen
them go out, and no one saw them return. On reaching her room, the
Countess waited for Lisette to bring up the stranger. Ten minutes had
elapsed when the maid hurried in with a pale face.
“Ah! Madame,” she said, “there was no need for me to go to fetch him.”
“What do you mean?” asked the Countess.
“Because he knew his way up as well as I did! And oh! Madame! if you
knew what he said to me! That man is the devil, Madame, I feel sure!”
“Show him in,” said the Countess.
“I am here!” said Thibault.
“You can leave us now, my girl,” said the Countess to Lisette. The latter
quitted the room and the Countess remained alone with Thibault. Thibault’s
appearance was not one to inspire confidence. He gave the impression of a
man who had once and for all made up his mind, but it was also easy to see
that it was for no good purpose; a Satanic smile played about his mouth,
and there was a demoniacal light in his eyes. He had made no attempt to
hide his red hairs, but had left them defiantly uncovered, and they hung
over his forehead like a plume of flame. But still the Countess looked him
full in the face without changing colour.
“My maid says that you know the way to my room; have you ever been
here before?”
“Yes, Madame, once.”
“And when was that?”
“The day before yesterday.”
“At what time?”
“From half-past ten till half-past twelve at night.”
The Countess looked steadily at him and said:
 “That is not true.”
“Would you like me to tell you what took place?”
“During the time you mention?”
“During the time I mention.”
“Say on,” replied the Countess, laconically.
Thibault was equally laconic.
“Monsieur Raoul came in by that door,” he said, pointing to the one
leading into the corridor, “and Lisette left him here alone. You entered the
room by that one,” he continued, indicating the dressing-room door, “and
you found him on his knees. Your hair was unbound, only fastened back by
three diamond pins, you wore a pink silk dressing-gown, trimmed with lace,
pink silk stockings, cloth-of-silver slippers and a chain of pearls round your
neck.”
“You describe my dress exactly,” said the Countess, “continue.”
“You tried to pick a quarrel with Monsieur Raoul, first because he
loitered in the corridors to kiss your waiting-maid; secondly, because
someone had met him late at night on the road between Erneville and
Villers-Cotterets; thirdly, because, at the ball given at the Castle, at which
you yourself were not present, he danced four times with Madame de
Bonneuil.”
“Continue.”
“In answer to your accusations, your lover made excuses for himself,
some good, some bad; you, however, were satisfied with them for you were
just forgiving him when Lisette rushed in full of alarm calling to Monsieur
Raoul to escape, as your husband had just returned.”
“Lisette was right, you can be nothing less than the devil,” said the
Countess with a sinister laugh, “and I think we shall be able to do business
together.... Finish your account.”
“Then you and your maid together pushed Monsieur Raoul, who resisted,
into the dressing-room; Lisette forced him along the corridors and through
two or three rooms; they then went down a winding staircase, in the wing of
the Castle opposite to the one by which they had gone up. On arriving at the
foot of the staircase, the fugitives found the door locked; then they ran into
a kind of office where Lisette opened the window, which was about seven
or eight feet above the ground. Monsieur Raoul leaped down out of this
window, ran to the stable, found his horse still there, but hamstrung; then he
swore that if he met the Count at any time he would hamstring him as the
Count had hamstrung his horse, for he thought it a cowardly act to injure a
poor beast so unnecessarily. Then he went on foot to the breach, climbed it,
and found the Count awaiting him outside the park, with his sword drawn.
The Baron had his hunting-knife with him; he drew it, and the duel began.”
“Was the Count alone?”
“Wait ... the Count appeared to be alone; after the fourth or fifth pass the
Count was wounded in the shoulder, and sank on one knee, crying: ‘help,
Lestocq!’ Then the Baron remembered his oath, and hamstrung the Count as
he had hamstrung the horse; but as the Baron rose, Lestocq drove his knife
into his back; it passed under the shoulder blade and out through the chest. I
need not tell you where ... you kissed the wound yourself.”
“And after that?”
“The Count and his huntsman returned to the Castle, leaving the Baron
lying helpless; when the latter came to, he made signs to some passing
peasants, who put him on a litter, and bore him away, with the intention of
taking him to Villers-Cotterets; but he was in such pain, that they could not
carry him farther than Puiseux; there they laid him on the bed where you
found him, and on which he breathed his last a second after the half hour
after nine in the evening.”
The Countess rose, and without speaking, went to her jewel-case and
took out the pearls she had worn two nights before. She handed them to
Thibault.
“What are they for?” he asked.
“Take them,” said the Countess, “they are worth fifty thousand livres.”
“Are you still anxious for revenge?”
“Yes,” replied the Countess.
“Revenge will cost more than that.”
“How much will it cost?”
“Wait for me to-morrow night,” said Thibault, “and I will tell you.”
“Where shall I await you?” asked the Countess.
“Here,” said Thibault, with the leer of a wild animal.
 “I will await you here,” said the Countess.
“Till to-morrow then.”
“Till to-morrow.”
Thibault went out. The Countess went and replaced the pearls in her
dressing case; lifted up a false bottom, and drew from underneath it a small
bottle containing an opal-coloured liquid, and a little dagger with a jewelled
handle and case, and a blade inlaid with gold. She hid both beneath her
pillow, knelt at her prie-dieu, and, her prayer finished, threw herself dressed
on to her bed....
 CHAPTER XX

TRUE TO TRYST

O N quitting the Countess’s room, Thibault had left the castle by the way
which he had described to her, and soon found himself safe beyond its
walls and outside the park. And now, for the first time in his life,
Thibault had really nowhere to go. His hut was burnt, he was without a
friend, and like Cain, he was a wanderer on the face of the earth. He turned
to the unfailing shelter of the forest, and there made his way to the lower
end of Chavigny; as the day was breaking he came across a solitary house,
and asked if he could buy some bread. The woman belonging to it, her
husband being away, gave him some, but refused to receive payment for it;
his appearance frightened her. Having now food sufficient for the day,
Thibault returned to the forest, with the intention of spending his time till
evening in a part which he knew between Fleury and Longpont, where the
trees were especially thick and tall. As he was looking for a resting place
behind a rock, his eye was attracted by a shining object lying at the bottom
of a slope, and his curiosity led him to climb down and see what it was. The
shining object was the silver badge belonging to a huntsman’s shoulder-
belt; the shoulder-belt was slung round the neck of a dead body, or rather of
a skeleton, for the flesh had been entirely eaten off the bones, which were as
clean as if prepared for an anatomist’s study or a painter’s studio. The
skeleton looked as if it had only lain there since the preceding night.
“Ah! ah!” said Thibault, “this is probably the work of my friends, the
wolves; they evidently profited by the permission which I gave them.”
Curious to know if possible who the victim was, he examined it more
closely; his curiosity was soon satisfied, for the badge, which the wolves
had no doubt rejected as less easily digestible than the rest, was lying on the
chest of the skeleton, like a ticket on a bale of goods.
J. B. Lestocq,
Head Keeper to the Comte de Mont-Gobert.
 “Well done!” laughed Thibault, “here is one at least who did not live long
to enjoy the result of his murderous act.”
Then, contracting his brow, he muttered to himself, in a low voice, and
this time without laughing:
“Is there perhaps, after all, what people call a Providence?”
Lestocq’s death was not difficult to account for. He had probably been
executing some order for his master that night, and on the road between
Mont-Gobert and Longpont, had been attacked by wolves. He had defended
himself with the same knife with which he had wounded the Baron, for
Thibault found the knife a few paces off, at a spot where the ground showed
traces of a severe struggle; at last, being disarmed, the ferocious beasts had
dragged him into the hollow, and there devoured him.
Thibault was becoming so indifferent to everything that he felt neither
pleasure nor regret, neither satisfaction nor remorse, at Lestocq’s death; all
he thought was, that it simplified matters for the Countess, as she would
now only have her husband upon whom she need revenge herself. Then he
went and found a place where the rocks afforded him the best shelter from
the wind, and prepared to spend his day there in peace. Towards mid-day,
he heard the horn of the Lord of Vez, and the cry of his hounds; the mighty
huntsman was after game, but the chase did not pass near enough to
Thibault to disturb him.
At last the night came. At nine o’clock Thibault rose and set out for the
Castle of Mont-Gobert. He found the breach, followed the path he knew,
and came to the little hut where Lisette had been awaiting him on the night
when he had come in the guise of Raoul. The poor girl was there this
evening, but alarmed and trembling. Thibault wished to carry out the old
traditions and tried to kiss her, but she sprang back with visible signs of
fear.
“Do not touch me,” she said, “or I shall call out.”
“Oh, indeed! my pretty one,” said Thibault, “you were not so sour-
tempered the other day with the Baron Raoul.”
“May be not,” said the girl, “but a great many things have happened since
the other day.”
“And many more to happen still,” said Thibault in a lively tone.
 “I think,” said the waiting-maid in a mournful voice, “that the climax is
already reached.”
Then, as she went on in front.
“If you wish to come,” she added, “follow me.”
Thibault followed her; Lisette, without the slightest effort at
concealment, walked straight across the open space that lay between the
trees and the castle.
“You are courageous to-day,” said Thibault, “and supposing some one
were to see us....”
“There is no fear now,” she answered, “the eyes that could have seen us
are all closed.”
Although he did not understand what the young girl meant by these
words, the tone in which they were spoken made Thibault shiver.
He continued to follow her in silence as they went up the winding-stairs
to the first floor. As Lisette laid her hand on the key of the door, Thibault
suddenly stopped her. Something in the silence and solitude of the castle
filled him with fear; it seemed as if a curse might have fallen on the place.
“Where are we going?” said Thibault, scarcely knowing himself what he
said.
“You know well enough, surely.”
“Into the Countess’s room?”
“Into the Countess’s room.”
“She is waiting for me?”
“She is waiting for you.”
And Lisette opened the door. “Go in,” she said.
Thibault went in, and Lisette shut the door behind him and waited
outside.
It was the same exquisite room, lighted in the same manner, filled with
the same sweet scent. Thibault looked round for the Countess, he expected
to see her appear at the dressing-room door, but the door remained closed.
Not a sound was to be heard in the room, except the ticking of the Sèvres
clock, and the beating of Thibault’s heart. He began to look about him with
a feeling of shuddering fear for which he could not account; then his eyes
fell on the bed; the Countess was lying asleep upon it. In her hair were the
same diamond pins, round her neck the same pearls; she was dressed in the
same pink silk dressing-gown, and had on the same little slippers of cloth of
silver which she had worn to receive the Baron Raoul.
Thibault went up to her; the Countess did not stir.
“You are sleeping, fair Countess?” he said, leaning over to look at her.
But all at once, he started upright, staring before him, his hair standing on
end, the sweat breaking out on his forehead. The terrible truth was
beginning to dawn upon him; was the Countess sleeping the sleep of this
world or of eternity?
He fetched a light from the mantel-piece, and with trembling hand, held
it to the face of the mysterious sleeper. It was pale as ivory, with the delicate
veins traced over the temples, and the lips still red. A drop of pink burning
wax fell on this still face of sleep; it did not awake the Countess.
“Ah!” cried Thibault, “what is this?” and he put down the candle, which
his shaking hand could no longer hold, on the night-table.
The Countess lay with her arms stretched out close to her sides; she
appeared to be clasping something in either hand. With some effort,
Thibault was able to open the left one; within it he found the little bottle,
which she had taken from her dressing case the night before. He opened the
other hand; within it lay a piece of paper on which were written these few
words: “True to tryst,”—yes, true and faithful unto death, for the Countess
was dead!
All Thibault’s illusions were fading one after the other, like the dreams of
the night which gradually fade away, as the sleeper becomes more and more
thoroughly awake. There was a difference, however, for other men find
their dead alive again in their dreams; but with Thibault, his dead did not
arise and walk, but remained lying for ever in their last sleep.
He wiped his forehead, went to the door leading into the corridor, and
opened it, to find Lisette on her knees, praying.
“Is the Countess dead then?” asked Thibault.
“The Countess is dead, and the Count is dead.”
“From the effect of the wounds given him by the Baron Raoul?”
“No, from the blow with the dagger given him by the Countess.”
 “Ah!” said Thibault, grimacing hideously, in his effort to force a laugh in
the midst of this grim drama, “all this tale you hint at is new to me.”
Then Lisette told him the tale in full. It was a plain tale, but a terrible
one.
The Countess had remained in bed part of the day, listening to the village
bells of Puiseux, which were tolling as the Baron’s body was being borne
from thence to Vauparfond, where he was to be laid in the family grave.
Towards four o’clock the bells ceased; then the Countess rose, took the
dagger from under her pillow, hid it in her breast, and went towards her
husband’s room. She found the valet in attendance in good spirits; the
doctor had just left, having examined the wound, and declared the Count’s
life out of danger.
“Madame will agree that it is a thing to rejoice at!” said the valet.
“Yes, to rejoice at indeed.”
And the Countess went on into her husband’s room. Five minutes later
she left it again.
“The Count is sleeping,” she said, “do not go in until he calls.”
The valet bowed and sat down in the ante-room to be in readiness at the
first call from his master. The Countess went back to her room.
“Undress me, Lisette,” she said to her waiting maid, “and give me the
clothes that I had on the last time he came.”
The maid obeyed; we have already seen how every detail of toilet was
arranged exactly as it had been on that fatal night. Then the Countess wrote
a few words on a piece of paper, which she folded and kept in her right
hand. After that, she lay down on her bed.
“Will Madame not take anything,” asked the maid.
The Countess opened her left hand, and showed her a little bottle she was
holding inside it.
“Yes, Lisette,” she said, “I am going to take what is in this bottle.”
“What, nothing but that!” said Lisette.
“It will be enough, Lisette; for after I have taken it, I shall have need of
nothing more.”
And as she spoke, she put the bottle to her mouth and drank the contents
at a draught. Then she said:
 “You saw that man, Lisette, who waited for us in the road; I have a
meeting with him this evening, here in my room, at half past nine. You
know where to go and wait for him, and you will bring him here. I do not
wish that anyone should be able to say that I was not true to my word, ever
after I am dead.”
Thibault had nothing to say; the agreement made between them had been
kept. Only the Countess had accomplished her revenge herself, single-
handed, as everyone understood, when the valet feeling uneasy about his
master, and going softly into his room to look at him, found him lying on
his back with a dagger in his heart; and then hurrying to tell Madame what
had happened, found the Countess dead also.
The news of this double death soon spread through the Castle, and all the
servants had fled, saying that the exterminating Angel was in the Castle; the
waiting-maid alone remained to carry out her dead mistress’s wishes.
Thibault had nothing more to do at the castle, so he left the Countess on
her bed, with Lisette near her, and went down stairs. As Lisette had said,
there was no fear now of meeting either master or servants; the servants had
run away, the master and mistress were dead. Thibault once more made for
the breach in the wall. The sky was dark, and if it had not been January, you
might have imagined a thunder storm was brewing; there was barely light
enough to see the footpath, as he went along. Once or twice Thibault
paused; he fancied he had detected the sound of the dry branches cracking
under someone’s footsteps keeping pace with his, both to right and left.
Having come to the breach, Thibault distinctly heard a voice say: “that’s
the man!” and at the same moment, two gendarmes, concealed on the
farther side of the wall, seized Thibault by the collar, while two others came
up behind.
It appeared that Cramoisi, jealous with regard to Lisette, had been
prowling about at nights on the watch, and had, only the evening before,
noticed a strange man come in and go out of the park along the more
secluded paths, and he had reported the fact to the head of the police. When
the recent serious events that had taken place at the Castle became generally
known, orders were given to send four men and take up any suspicious
looking person seen prowling about. Two of the men, with Cramoisi for
guide, had ambushed on the farther side of the breach, and the two others
had dogged Thibault through the park. Then as we have seen, at the signal
given by Cramoisi, they had all four fallen upon him as he issued from the
breach.
There was a long and obstinate struggle; Thibault was not a man that
even four others could overcome without difficulty; but he had no weapon
by him, and his resistance was therefore useless. The gendarmes had been
more bent on securing him, on account of having recognised that it was
Thibault, and Thibault was beginning to earn a very bad name, so many
misfortunes having become associated with it; so Thibault was knocked
down, and finally bound and led off between two mounted men. The other
two gendarmes walked one in front, and one behind. Thibault had merely
struggled out of a natural feeling of self-defence and pride, for his power to
inflict evil was, as we know, unlimited, and he had but to wish his assailants
dead, and they would have fallen lifeless at his feet. But he thought there
was time enough for that; as long as there still remained a wish to him, he
could escape from man’s justice, even though he were at the foot of the
scaffold.
So, Thibault, securely bound, his hands tied, and fetters upon his feet,
walked along between his four gendarmes, apparently in a state of
resignation. One of the gendarmes held the end of the rope with which he
was bound, and the four men made jokes and laughed at him, asking the
wizard Thibault, why, being possessed of such power, he had allowed
himself to be taken. And Thibault replied to their scoffings with the well-
known Proverb: “He laughs best who laughs last,” and the gendarmes
expressed a wish that they might be the ones to do so.
On leaving Puiseux behind, they came to the forest. The weather was
growing more and more threatening; the dark clouds hung so low that the
trees looked as if they were holding up a huge black veil, and it was
impossible to see four steps ahead. But he, Thibault saw; saw lights swiftly
passing, and crossing one another, in the darkness on either side. Closer and
closer drew the lights, and pattering footfalls were heard among the dry
leaves. The horses became restive, shied and snorted, sniffing the air and
trembling beneath their riders, while the coarse laughter of the men
themselves died down. It was Thibault’s turn to laugh now.
“What are you laughing at?” asked one of the gendarmes. “I am laughing
at your having left off laughing,” said Thibault.
 The lights drew nearer, and the footfalls became more distinct, at the
sound of Thibault’s voice. Then a more ominous sound was heard, a sound
of teeth striking together, as jaws opened and shut.
“Yes, yes, my friends,” said Thibault, “you have tasted human flesh, and
you found it good.”
He was answered by a low growl of approbation, half like a dog’s, and
half like a hyena’s.
“Quite so,” said Thibault, “I understand; after having made a meal of a
keeper, you would not mind tasting a gendarme.”
The gendarmes themselves were beginning to shudder with fear. “To
whom are you talking?” they asked him.
“To those who can answer me,” said Thibault; and he gave a howl.
Twenty or more howls responded, some from close at hand, some from
farther off.
“H’m!” said one of the gendarmes, “what are these beasts that are
following us? this good-for-nothing seems to understand their language?”
“What!” said the shoe-maker, “you take Thibault the wolf-master
prisoner, you carry him through the forest at night, and then you ask what
are the lights and the howls that follow him!... Do you hear, friends?” cried
Thibault, “these gentlemen are asking who you are. Answer them, all of you
together, that they may have no further doubt on the matter.”
The wolves, obedient to their master’s voice, gave one prolonged,
unanimous howl. The horses panted and shivered, and one or two of them
reared. The gendarmes endeavoured to calm their animals, patting and
gentling them.
“That is nothing,” said Thibault, “wait till you see each horse with two
wolves hanging on to its hind-quarters and another at its throat.”
The wolves now came in between the horses’ legs, and began caressing
Thibault; one of them stood up, and put its front paws on Thibault’s chest,
as if asking for orders.
“Presently, presently,” said Thibault, “there is plenty of time; do not be
selfish, give your comrades time to come up.”
The men could no longer control their horses, which were rearing and
shying, and although going at a foot’s pace, were streaming with sweat.
 “Do you not think,” said Thibault, “you would do best now to come to
terms with me? That is, if you were to let me free on condition that you all
sleep in your beds to-night.”
“Go at a walking pace,” said one of the gendarmes, “as long as we do
that, we have nothing to fear.”
Another one drew his sword. A second or two later there was a howl of
pain; one of the wolves had seized hold of this gendarme’s boot, and the
latter had pierced him through with his weapon.
“I call that a very imprudent thing to do,” said Thibault; “the wolves eat
each other, whatever the proverb may say, and once having tasted blood, I
do not know that even I shall have the power to hold them back.”
The wolves threw themselves in a body on their wounded comrade, and
in five minutes there was nothing left of its carcase but the bare bones. The
gendarmes had profited by this respite to get on ahead, but without
releasing Thibault, whom they obliged to run alongside of them; what he
had foreseen, however, happened. There was a sudden sound as of an
approaching hurricane—the whole pack was in pursuit, following them up
at full gallop. The horses, having once started trotting, refused to go at a
walking pace again, and frightened by the stamping, the smell, and the
howls, now set off galloping, in spite of their riders’ efforts to hold them in.
The man who had hold of the rope, now requiring both hands to master his
horse, let go of Thibault; and the wolves leaped on to the horses, clinging
desperately to the cruppers and withers and throats of the terrified animals.
No sooner had the latter felt the sharp teeth of their assailants, than they
scattered, rushing in every direction.
“Hurrah, wolves! hurrah!” cried Thibault. But the fierce animals had no
need of encouragement, and soon each horse had six or seven more wolves
in pursuit of him.
Horses and wolves disappeared, some one way some the other, and the
men’s cries of distress, the agonised neighings of the horses, and the furious
howls of the wolves became gradually fainter and fainter as they travelled
farther away.
Thibault was left free once more, and alone. His hands however were still
bound, and his feet fettered. First he tried to undo the cord with his teeth,
but this he found impossible. Then he tried to wrench his bonds apart by the
power of his muscles, but that too was unavailing; the only result of his
efforts was to make the cord cut into his flesh. It was his turn to bellow with
pain and anger. At last, tired of trying to wrest his hands free, he lifted them,
bound as they were, to heaven, and cried:
“Oh! black wolf! friend, let these cords that bind me be loosened; thou
knowest well that it is only to do evil that I wish for my hands to be free.”
And at the same moment his fetters were broken and fell to the ground,
and Thibault beat his hands together with another roar, this time of joy.
 CHAPTER XXI

THE GENIUS OF EVIL

T HE next evening, about nine o’clock, a man might be seen walking along
the Puits-Sarrasin road and making for the Osiéres forest-path.
It was Thibault, on his way to pay a last visit to the hut, and to see if
any remains of it had been left by the fire. A heap of smoking cinders alone
marked the place where it had stood; and as Thibault came in sight of it, he
saw the wolves, as if he had appointed them to meet him there, forming an
immense circle round the ruins, and looking upon them with an expression
of mournful anger. They seemed to understand that by destroying this poor
hut, made of earth and branches, the one who, by the compact with the
black wolf, had been given them for master, had been made a victim. As
Thibault entered the circle, all the wolves gave simultaneously a long and
sinister sounding howl, as if to make him understand that they were ready
to help in avenging him.
Thibault went and sat down on the spot where the hearth had stood; it
was recognisable from a few blackened stones still remaining, which were
otherwise uninjured, and by a higher heap of cinders just at that spot. He
stayed there some minutes, absorbed in his unhappy thoughts. But he was
not reflecting that the ruin which he saw around him was the consequence
and the punishment of his jealous and covetous desires, which had gone on
gathering strength. He felt neither repentance nor regret. That which
dominated all other feeling in him was his satisfaction at the thought of
being henceforth able to render to his fellow-creatures evil for evil, his
pride in having, thanks to his terrible auxiliaries, the power to fight against
those who persecuted him.
And as the wolves continued their melancholy howling: “Yes, my
friends,” said Thibault, “yes, your howls answer to the cry of my heart....
My fellow-creatures have destroyed my hut, they have cast to the winds the
ashes of the tools wherewith I earned my daily bread; their hatred pursues
me as it pursues you, I expect from them neither mercy nor pity. We are
their enemies as they are ours; and I will have neither mercy nor
compassion on them. Come then, let us go from this hut to the Castle, and
carry thither the desolation which they have brought home to me.”
And then the master of the wolves, like a chief of banditti followed by his
desperadoes, set off with his pack in quest of pillage and carnage.
This time it was neither red-deer, nor fallow-deer, nor any timid game of
which they were in pursuit. Sheltered by the darkness of the night Thibault
first directed his course to the Château of Vez, for there was lodged his
chief enemy. The Baron had three farms belonging to the estate, stables
filled with horses, and others filled with cows, and the park was full of
sheep. All these places were attacked the first night, and on the morrow two
horses, four cows, and ten sheep were found killed.
The Baron was doubtful at first if this could be the work of the beasts
against which he waged so fierce a warfare; there seemed something
partaking rather of intelligence and revenge in it than of the mere
unreasoning attacks of a pack of wild animals. Still it seemed manifest that
the wolves must have been the aggressors, judging by the marks of teeth on
the carcases and the footprints left on the ground. Next night the Baron set
watchers to lie in wait, but Thibault and his wolves were at work on the
farther side of the forest. This time it was the stables and parks of Soucy
and of Vivières which were decimated, and the following night those of
Boursonnes and Yvors. The work of annihilation, once begun, must be
carried out with desperate determination, and the master never left his
wolves now; he slept with them in their dens, and lived in the midst of
them, stimulating their thirst for blood.
Many a woodman, many a heath-gatherer, came face to face in the
thickets with the menacing white teeth of a wolf, and was either carried off
and eaten, or just saved his life by the aid of his courage and his bill-hook.
Guided by a human intelligence, the wolves had become organised and
disciplined, and were far more formidable than a band of discontented
soldiery let loose in a conquered country.
The terror of them became general; no one dared go beyond the towns
and villages unarmed; horses and cattle were all fed inside the stables, and
the men themselves, their work done, waited for one another, so as not to go
about singly. The Bishop of Soissons ordered public prayer to be made,
asking God to send a thaw, for the unusual ferocity of the wolves was
attributed to the great quantity of snow that had fallen. But the report also
went about that the wolves were incited to their work, and led about by a
man; that this man was more indefatigable, more cruel and insatiable than
the wolves themselves; that in imitation of his companions he ate raw flesh
and quenched his thirst in blood. And the people went further and said that
this man was Thibault.
The Bishop pronounced sentence of excommunication against the former
shoe-maker. The Lord of Vez, however, had little faith in the thunders of the
Church being of much effect, unless supported by some well-conducted
hunting. He was somewhat cast down at so much blood being spilt, and his
pride was sorely hurt that his, the Grand Master’s, own cattle should have
suffered so heavily from the very wolves he was especially appointed to
destroy.
At the same time, he could not but feel a secret delight, at the thought of
the triumphant view-halloos in store for him, and of the fame which he
could not fail to win among all sportsmen of repute. His passion for the
chase, excited by the way in which his adversaries the wolves had so openly
entered upon the struggle, became absolutely overpowering; he allowed
neither respite nor repose; he took no sleep himself and ate his meals in the
saddle. All night long he scoured the country in company with l’Eveillé and
Engoulevent, who, in consideration of his marriage had been raised to the
rank of pricker; and the dawn had no sooner appeared before he was again
in the saddle, ready to start and chase the wolf until it was too dark to
distinguish the hounds. But alas! all his knowledge of the art of Venery, all
his courage, all his perseverance, were lost labour. He occasionally brought
down some wretched cub, some miserable beast eaten with mange, some
imprudent glutton which had so gorged itself with carnage that its breath
would not hold out after an hour or two’s run; but the larger, well-grown
wolves, with their thick dark coats, their muscles like steel springs and their
long slender feet—not one of these lost a hair in the war that was being
made upon them. Thanks to Thibault they met their enemies in arms on
nearly equal ground.
As the Baron of Vez remained for ever with his dogs, so did Thibault
with his wolves; after a night of sack and pillage, he kept the pack awake on
the watch to help the one that the Baron had started. This wolf again,
following Thibault’s instructions, had recourse at first to stratagem. It
doubled, crossed its tracks, waded in the streams, leaped up into the
bending trees so as to make it more difficult still for huntsmen and hounds
to follow the scent, and finally when it felt its powers failing, it adopted
bolder measures and went straight ahead. Then the other wolves and their
master intervened; at the least sign of hesitation on the part of the hounds,
they managed so cleverly to put them on the wrong scent, that it required an
experienced eye to detect that the dogs were not all following up the same
track, and nothing less than the Baron’s profound knowledge could decide
which was the right one. Even he sometimes was mistaken.
Again, the wolves in their turn followed the huntsmen; it was a pack
hunting a pack; only the one hunted in silence, which made it far the more
formidable of the two. Did a tired hound fall behind, or another get
separated from the main body, it was seized and killed in an instant, and
Engoulevent, whom we have had occasion to mention several times before
and who had taken poor Marcotte’s place, having hastened one day to the
help of one of his hounds that was uttering cries of distress, was himself
attacked and only owed his life to the swiftness of his horse.
It was not long before the Baron’s pack was decimated; his best hounds
were nearly dead with fatigue, and his more second-rate ones had perished
by the wolves’ teeth. The stable was in no better condition than the kennel;
Bayard was foundered, Tancred had sprained a tendon leaping over a ditch,
and a strained fetlock had placed Valourous on the list of invalids. Sultan,
luckier than his three companions had fallen honourably on the field of
battle, having succumbed to a sixteen hours’ run under the weight of his
gigantic master, who never for a moment lost courage notwithstanding the
fact that the dead bodies of his finest and most faithful servitors lay heaped
around him.
The Baron, following the example of the noble-hearted Romans who
exhausted the resources of military art against the Carthaginians who were
for ever re-appearing as enemies, the Baron, I repeat, changed his tactics
and tried what battues could accomplish. He called on all available men
among the peasants, and beat up the game throughout the forest with such a
formidable number of men, that not so much as a hare was left in its form
near any spot which they had passed.
But Thibault made it his business to find out beforehand where these
battues were going to take place, and if he ascertained that the beaters were
on the side of the forest towards Viviers or Soucy, he and his wolves made
an excursion to Boursonnes or Yvors; and if the Baron and his men were
busy near Haramont or Longpré, the people of Corcy and Vertefeuille were
made painfully aware of Thibault and his wolves.
In vain the Lord of Vez drew his cordon at night round the suspected
enclosures, so as to begin the attack with daylight; never once did his men
succeed in starting a wolf, for not once did Thibault make a mistake in his
calculations. If by chance he had not been well informed, and was uncertain
in what direction the Baron and his men were going, he called all his
wolves together, sending express couriers after them as the night set in; he
then led them unobserved down the wooded lane leading to Lessart-
l’Abbesse, which at that time ran between the forest of Compiègne and the
forest of Villers-Cotterets, and so was able to pass from one to the other.
This state of things went on for several months. Both the Baron and
Thibault carried out the task each had set before himself, with equally
passionate energy; the latter, like his adversary, seemed to have required
some supernatural power, whereby he was able to resist fatigue and
excitement; and this was the more remarkable seeing that during the short
intervals of respite accorded by the Lord of Vez, the Wolf-leader was by no
means at peace in himself.
It was not that the terrible deeds in which he was an active agent, and at
which he presided, filled him exactly with horror, for he thought them
justifiable; he threw the responsibility of them, he said, on to those who had
forced him to commit them; but there were moments of failing spirit, for
which he could not account, when he went about in the midst of his
ferocious companions, feeling gloomy, morose and heavy hearted. Again
the image of Agnelette would rise before him, seeming to him like the
personification of his own past life, honest and laborious, peaceful and
innocent. And more than that, he felt he loved her more than he had ever
thought it possible for him to love anybody. At times he would weep at the
thought of all his lost happiness, at others he was seized with a wild fit of
jealousy against the one to whom she now belonged,—she, who at one
time, might if he had liked, have been his.
One day, the Baron in order to prepare some fresh means of destruction,
had been forced for the while to leave the wolves in peace. Thibault, who
was in one of the moods we have just described, wandered forth from the
den where he lived in company with the wolves. It was a splendid summer’s
night, and he began to rove about the woodlands, where the moon was
lighting up the trunks of the trees, dreaming of the time when he trod the
mossy carpet underfoot free from trouble and anxiety, until at last the only
happiness which was now left him, forgetfulness of the present, stole over
his senses. Lost in this sweet dream of his earlier life, he was all of a sudden
aroused by a cry of distress from somewhere near at hand. He was now so
accustomed to such sounds, that, ordinarily, he would have paid no
attention to it, but his heart was for the moment softened by the recollection
of Agnelette, and he felt more disposed than usual to pity; as it happened
also he was near the place where he had first seen the gentle child, and this
helped to awaken his kinder nature.
He ran to the spot whence the cry had come, and as he leaped from the
underwood into the deep forest-lane near Ham, he saw a woman struggling
with an immense wolf which had thrown her on the ground. Thibault could
not have said why he was so agitated at this sight, nor why his heart beat
more violently than usual; he rushed forward and seizing the animal by the
throat hurled it away from its victim, and then lifting the woman in his
arms, he carried her to the side of the lane and laid her on the slope. Here a
ray of moonlight, breaking through the clouds, fell on the face of the
woman he had saved, and Thibault saw that it was Agnelette. Near to the
spot was the spring in which Thibault had once gazed at himself, and had
seen the first red hair; he ran to it, took up water in his hands, and threw it
into the woman’s face. Agnelette opened her eyes, gave a cry of terror, and
tried to rise and flee.
“What!” cried the Wolf-leader, as if he were still Thibault the shoe-
maker, “you do not know me again, Agnelette?”
“Ah! yes indeed, I know you, Thibault; and it is because I know who you
are,” cried the young woman, “that I am afraid!”
Then throwing herself on her knees, and clasping her hands: “Oh do not
kill me, Thibault!” she cried, “do not kill me! it would be such dreadful
trouble for the poor old grandmother! Thibault, do not kill me!”
The Wolf-leader stood overcome with consternation; up to this hour he
had not fully realised the hideous renown which he had gained; but the
terror which the sight of him inspired in the woman who had loved him and
whom he still loved, filled him with a horror of himself.
 “I, kill you, Agnelette!” he said, “just when I have snatched you from
death! Oh! how you must hate and despise me for such a thought to enter
your head.”
“I do not hate you, Thibault,” said the young woman, “but I hear such
things about you, that I feel afraid of you.”
“And do they say nothing of the infidelity which has led Thibault to
commit such crimes?”
“I do not understand you,” said Agnelette looking at Thibault with her
large eyes, blue as the heavens.
“What!” exclaimed Thibault, “you do not understand that I loved you—
that I adored you Agnelette, and that the loss of you sent me out of my
mind?”
“If you loved me, if you adored me, Thibault, what prevented you from
marrying me?”
“The spirit of evil,” muttered Thibault.
“I too loved you,” continued the young woman, “and I suffered cruelly
waiting for you.”
Thibault heaved a sigh.
“You loved me, Agnelette?” he asked.
“Yes,” replied the young woman with her soft voice and gentle eyes.
“But now, all is over,” said Thibault, “and you love me no more.”
“Thibault,” answered Agnelette, “I no longer love you, because it is no
longer right to love you; but one cannot always forget one’s first love as one
would wish.”
“Agnelette!” cried Thibault, trembling all over, “be careful what you
say!”
“Why should I be careful what I say, since it is the truth,” said the girl
with an innocent shake of the head. “The day you told me that you wished
to make me your wife, I believed you, Thibault; for why should I think that
you would lie to me when I had just done you a service? Then, later I met
you, but I did not go in search of you; you came to me, you spoke words of
love to me, you were the first to refer to the promise that you had made me.
And it was not my fault either, Thibault, that I was afraid of that ring which
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