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to retrace his steps. Cravatte was in possession of the moun-
tains as far as Arche, and beyond; there was danger even
with an escort; it merely exposed three or four unfortunate
gendarmes to no purpose.
‘Therefore,’ said the Bishop, ‘I intend to go without es-
cor t.’
‘You do not really mean that, Monseigneur!’ exclaimed
the mayor.
‘I do mean it so thoroughly that I absolutely refuse any
gendarmes, and shall set out in an hour.’
‘Set out?’
‘Set out.’
‘Alone?’
‘Alone.’
‘Monseigneur, you will not do that!’
‘There exists yonder in the mountains,’ said the Bishop,
‘a tiny community no bigger than that, which I have not
seen for three years. They are my good friends, those gen-
tle and honest shepherds. They own one goat out of every
thirty that they tend. They make very pretty woollen cords
of various colors, and they play the mountain airs on little
flutes with six holes. They need to be told of the good God
now and then. What would they say to a bishop who was
afraid? What would they say if I did not go?’
‘But the brigands, Monseigneur?’
‘Hold,’ said the Bishop, ‘I must think of that. You are
right. I may meet them. They, too, need to be told of the
good God.’
‘But, Monseigneur, there is a band of them! A flock of