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                        <title>The Yellow Book: An Illustrated Quarterly, Volume 3 October
                              1894</title>
                        <title type="YBV3_grahame_headswoman"/>
                        <editor>Lorraine Janzen Kooistra</editor>
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                              <date>2019</date>
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                        <pubPlace>Ryerson University Centre for Digital Humanities</pubPlace>
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                                          <persName>Henry Harland &amp; Aubrey Beardsley</persName>
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                                    <author>Kenneth Grahame</author>
                                    <title>The Headswoman</title>
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                                          <publisher>John Lane</publisher>
                                          <pubPlace> London </pubPlace>
                                          <publisher>Copeland &amp; Day</publisher>
                                          <pubPlace>Boston</pubPlace>
                                          <date>October 1894</date>
                                          <biblScope>Grahame, Kenneth. "The Headswoman." <emph
                                                  rend="italic">The Yellow Book</emph>, vol. 3, October
                                                1894, pp. 25-47. <emph rend="italic">Yellow
                                                  Book Digital Edition</emph>, edited by Dennis Denisoff and
                                                Lorraine Janzen Kooistra, 2010-2014. <emph rend="italic">Yellow Nineties 2.0</emph>,
                                          	Ryerson University Centre for Digital Humanities, 2019.
                                                https://1890s.ca/YBV3_grahame_headswoman/
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                        <head>
                              <title level="a">The Headswoman</title>
                        </head>
                        <byline>By<docAuthor>
                                    <ref target="#KGR">Kenneth Grahame</ref>
                              </docAuthor>
                        </byline>
                        <p>I</p>
                        <p>IT was a bland sunny morning of a mediaeval May—an old-style<lb/> May of
                              the most typical quality ; and the Council of the little<lb/> town of
                              St. Radegonde were assembled, as was their wont at that<lb/> hour, in
                              the picturesque upper chamber of the Hotel de Ville, for<lb/> the
                              dispatch of the usual municipal business. Though the date was<lb/>
                              early sixteenth century, the members of this particular town-<lb/>
                              council possessed some resemblance to those of similar assemblies<lb/>
                              in the seventeenth, eighteenth, and even the nineteenth
                              centuries,<lb/> in a general absence of any characteristic at
                              all—unless a pervading<lb/> hopeless insignificance can be considered
                              as such. All the character,<lb/> indeed, in the room seemed to be
                              concentrated in the girl who<lb/> stood before the table, erect, yet
                              at her ease, facing the members in<lb/> general and Mr. Mayor in
                              particular ; a delicate-handed, handsome<lb/> girl of some eighteen
                              summers, whose tall, supple figure was well set<lb/> off by the quiet,
                              though tasteful mourning in which she was clad.</p>
                        <p>"Well, gentlemen," the Mayor was saying ; "this little business<lb/>
                              appears to be—er—quite in order, and it only remains for me
                              to—<lb/>er—review the facts. You are aware that the town has lately
                              had<lb/> the misfortune to lose its executioner—a gentleman who, I
                              may<lb/>
                        </p>
                        <fw type="catchword">say,</fw>
                        <pb n="36"/>
                        <fw type="runningHead">
                              <fw type="pageNum">26</fw> The Headswoman</fw>
                        <p>say, performed the duties of his office with neatness and dispatch,<lb/>
                              and gave the fullest satisfaction to all with whom he—er—came in<lb/>
                              contact. But the Council has already, in a vote of condolence,<lb/>
                              expressed its sense of the—er—striking qualities of the deceased.<lb/>
                              You are doubtless also aware that the office is hereditary, being<lb/>
                              secured to a particular family in this town, so long as any one of
                              its<lb/> members is ready and willing to take it up. The deed lies
                              before<lb/> me, and appears to be—er—quite in order. It is true that
                              on this<lb/> occasion the Council might have been called upon to
                              consider and<lb/> examine the title of the claimant, the late lamented
                              official having<lb/> only left a daughter—she who now stands before
                              you ; but I am<lb/> happy to say that Jeanne—the young lady in
                              question—with what<lb/> I am bound to call great good-feeling on her
                              part, has saved us all<lb/> trouble in that respect, by formally
                              applying for the family post,<lb/> with all its—er—duties, privileges,
                              and emoluments ; and her<lb/> application appears to be—er—quite in
                              order. There is therefore,<lb/> under the circumstances, nothing left
                              for us to do but to declare<lb/> the said applicant duly elected. I
                              would wish, however, before I—<lb/>er—sit down, to make it quite clear
                              to the—er—fair petitioner,<lb/> that if a laudable desire to save the
                              Council trouble in the matter<lb/> has led her to a—er—hasty
                              conclusion, it is quite open to her to<lb/> reconsider her position.
                              Should she determine not to press her<lb/> claim, the succession to
                              the post would then apparently devolve<lb/> upon her cousin
                              Enguerrand, well known to you all as a practising<lb/> advocate in the
                              courts of this town. Though the youth has not,<lb/> I admit, up to now
                              proved a conspicuous success in the profession<lb/> he has chosen,
                              still there is no reason why a bad lawyer should<lb/> not make an
                              excellent executioner ; and in view of the close friend-<lb/> ship—may
                              I even say attachment ?—existing between the cousins,<lb/> it is
                              possible that this young lady may, in due course, practically<lb/>
                              enjoy the solid emoluments of the position without the necessity<lb/>
                        </p>
                        <fw type="catchword">of</fw>
                        <pb n="37"/>
                        <fw type="runningHead">By Kenneth Grahame <fw type="pageNum">27</fw>
                        </fw>
                        <p>of discharging its (to some girls) uncongenial duties. And so,<lb/>
                              though not the rose herself, she would still be—er—near the<lb/> rose
                              !" And the Mayor resumed his seat, chuckling over his little<lb/>
                              pleasantry, which the keener wits of the Council proceeded to<lb/>
                              explain at length to the more obtuse.</p>
                        <p>"Permit me, Mr. Mayor," said the girl, quietly, "first to thank<lb/> you
                              for what was evidently the outcome of a kindly though mis-<lb/>
                              directed feeling on your part ; and then to set you right as to
                              the<lb/> grounds of my application for the post to which you admit
                              my<lb/> hereditary claim. As to my cousin, your conjecture as to
                              the<lb/> feeling between us is greatly exaggerated ; and I may further
                              say<lb/> at once, from my knowledge of his character, that he is
                              little quali-<lb/> fied either to adorn or to dignify an important
                              position such as this.<lb/> A man who has achieved such indifferent
                              success in a minor and<lb/> less exacting walk of life, is hardly
                              likely to shine in an occupation<lb/> demanding punctuality,
                              concentration, judgment—all the qualities,<lb/> in fine, that go to
                              make a good business man. But this is beside<lb/> the question. My
                              motives, gentlemen, in demanding what is my<lb/> due, are simple and
                              (I trust) honest, and I desire that you should<lb/> know them. It is
                              my wish to be dependent on no one. I am<lb/> both willing and able to
                              work, and I only ask for what is the<lb/> common right of
                              humanity—admission to the labour market.<lb/> How many poor toiling
                              women would simply jump at a chance<lb/> like this which fortune lays
                              open to me ! And shall I, from any<lb/> false deference to that
                              conventional voice which proclaims this<lb/> thing as "nice," and that
                              thing as "not nice," reject a handicraft<lb/> which promises me both
                              artistic satisfaction and a competence ?<lb/> No, gentlemen ; my claim
                              is a small one—only a fair day's wage<lb/> for a fair day's work. But
                              I can accept nothing less, nor consent<lb/> to forgo my rights, even
                              or any contingent remainder of possible<lb/> cousinly favour !"</p>
                        <fw type="catchword">There</fw>
                        <pb n="38"/>
                        <fw type="runningHead">
                              <fw type="pageNum">28</fw> The Headswoman</fw>
                        <p>There was a touch of scorn in her fine contralto voice as she<lb/>
                              finished speaking ; the Mayor himself beamed approval. He was<lb/> not
                              wealthy, and had a large family of daughters ; so Jeanne's<lb/>
                              sentiments seemed to him entirely right and laudable.</p>
                        <p>"Well, gentlemen," he began, briskly, "then all we've got to<lb/> do, is
                              to——"</p>
                        <p>"Beg pardon, your worship," put in Master Robinet, the<lb/> tanner, who
                              had been sitting with a petrified, Bill-the-Lizard sort<lb/> of
                              expression during the speechifying ; "but are we to understand<lb/> as
                              how this here young lady is going to be the public<lb/> executioner
                              ?"</p>
                        <p>"Really, neighbour Robinet," said the Mayor somewhat<lb/> pettishly,
                              "you've got ears like the rest of us, I suppose ; and<lb/> you know
                              the contents of the deed ; and you ve had my assurance<lb/> that
                              it's—er—quite in order ; and as it's getting towards lunch-<lb/>
                              time——"</p>
                        <p>"But it's unheard-of," protested honest Robinet. "There<lb/> hasn't ever
                              been no such thing—leastways not as I've heard<lb/> tell."</p>
                        <p>"Well, well, well," said the Mayor, "everything must have a<lb/>
                              beginning, I suppose. Times are different now, you know.<lb/> There's
                              the march of intellect, and—er—all that sort of thing.<lb/> We must
                              advance with the times—don't you see, Robinet ?—<lb/>advance with the
                              times !"</p>
                        <p>"Well I'm——" began the tanner.</p>
                        <p>But no one heard, on this occasion, the tanner's opinion as to<lb/> his
                              condition, physical or spiritual ; for the clear contralto cut<lb/>
                              short his obtestations.</p>
                        <p>"If there's really nothing more to be said, Mr. Mayor," she<lb/>
                              remarked, "I need not trespass longer on your valuable time. I<lb/>
                              propose to take up the duties of my office to-morrow morning, at<lb/>
                        </p>
                        <fw type="catchword">the</fw>
                        <pb n="39"/>
                        <fw type="runningHead">By Kenneth Grahame <fw type="pageNum">29</fw>
                        </fw>
                        <p>the usual hour. The salary will, I assume, be reckoned from the<lb/> same
                              date ; and I shall make the customary quarterly application<lb/> for
                              such additional emoluments as may have accrued to me during<lb/> that
                              period. You see I am familiar with the routine. Good<lb/> morning,
                              gentlemen !" And as she passed from the Council<lb/> chamber, her
                              small head held erect, even the tanner felt that she<lb/> took with
                              her a large portion of the May sunshine which was<lb/> condescending
                              that morning to gild their deliberations.</p>
                        <p>II</p>
                        <p>One evening, a few weeks later, Jeanne was taking a stroll on<lb/> the
                              ramparts of the town, a favourite and customary walk of hers<lb/> when
                              business cares were over. The pleasant expanse of country<lb/> that
                              lay spread beneath her—the rich sunset, the gleaming sinuous<lb/>
                              river, and the noble old château that dominated both town and<lb/>
                              pasture from its adjacent height—all served to stir and bring out<lb/>
                              in her those poetic impulses which had lain dormant during the<lb/>
                              working day ; while the cool evening breeze smoothed out and<lb/>
                              obliterated any little jars or worries which might have ensued<lb/>
                              during the practice of a profession in which she was still
                              something<lb/> of a novice. This evening she felt fairly happy and
                              content.<lb/> True, business was rather brisk, and her days had been
                              fully<lb/> occupied ; but this mattered little so long as her modest
                              efforts<lb/> were appreciated, and she was now really beginning to
                              feel that,<lb/> with practice, her work was creditably and
                              artistically done. In<lb/> a satisfied, somewhat dreamy mood, she was
                              drinking in the<lb/> various sweet influences of the evening, when she
                              perceived her<lb/> cousin approaching.</p>
                        <fw type="catchword">"Good</fw>
                        <pb n="40"/>
                        <fw type="runningHead">
                              <fw type="pageNum">30</fw> The Headswoman</fw>
                        <p>"Good evening, Enguerrand," cried Jeanne pleasantly ; she<lb/> was
                              thinking that since she had begun to work for her living, she<lb/> had
                              hardly seen him—and they used to be such good friends.<lb/> Could
                              anything have occurred to offend him ?</p>
                        <p>Enguerrand drew near somewhat moodily, but could not help<lb/> relaxing
                              his expression at sight of her fair young face, set in its<lb/>
                              framework of rich brown hair, wherein the sunset seemed to have<lb/>
                              tangled itself and to cling, reluctant to leave it.</p>
                        <p>"Sit down, Enguerrand," continued Jeanne, "and tell me what<lb/> you've
                              been doing this long time. Been very busy, and winning<lb/> forensic
                              fame and gold ? "</p>
                        <p>"Well, not exactly," said Enguerrand, moody once more.<lb/> "The fact is,
                              there's so much interest required nowadays at<lb/> the courts, that
                              unassisted talent never gets a chance. And you,<lb/> Jeanne ?"</p>
                        <p>"Oh, I don't complain," answered Jeanne, lightly. "Of course<lb/> it's
                              fair-time just now, you know, and we're always busy then.<lb/> But
                              work will be lighter soon, and then I'll get a day off, and<lb/> we'll
                              have a delightful ramble and picnic in the woods, as we<lb/> used to
                              do when we were children. What fun we had in<lb/> those old days,
                              Enguerrand ! Do you remember when we<lb/> were quite little tots, and
                              used to play at executions in the back-<lb/>garden, and you were a
                              bandit and a buccaneer, and all sorts of<lb/> dreadful things, and I
                              used to chop off your head with a paper-<lb/> knife ? How pleased dear
                              father used to be !"</p>
                        <p>"Jeanne," said Enguerrand, with some hesitation, "you've<lb/> touched
                              upon the very subject that I came to speak to you about.<lb/> Do you
                              know, dear, I can't help feeling—it may be unreasonable,<lb/> but
                              still the feeling is there—that the profession you have adopted<lb/>
                              is not quite—is just a little——"</p>
                        <p>"Now, Enguerrand !" said Jeanne, an angry flash sparkling in<lb/>
                        </p>
                        <fw type="catchword">her</fw>
                        <pb n="41"/>
                        <fw type="runningHead">By Kenneth Grahame <fw type="pageNum">31</fw>
                        </fw>
                        <p>her eyes. She was a little touchy on this subject, the word she<lb/> most
                              affected to despise being also the one she most dreaded—the<lb/>
                              adjective "unladylike."</p>
                        <p>"Don't misunderstand me, Jeanne," went on Enguerrand,<lb/> imploringly :
                              "You may naturally think that, because I should<lb/> have succeeded to
                              the post, with its income and perquisites, had<lb/> you relinquished
                              your claim, there is therefore some personal<lb/> feeling in my
                              remonstrances. Believe me, it is not so. My own<lb/> interests do not
                              weigh with me for a moment. It is on your own<lb/> account, Jeanne,
                              and yours alone, that I ask you to consider<lb/> whether the higher
                              aesthetic qualities, which I know you possess,<lb/> may not become
                              cramped and thwarted by 'the trivial round, the<lb/> common task,'
                              which you have lightly undertaken. However<lb/> laudable a
                              professional life may be, one always feels that with a<lb/> delicate
                              organism such as woman, some of the bloom may possibly<lb/> get rubbed
                              off the peach."</p>
                        <p>"Well, Enguerrand," said Jeanne, composing herself with an<lb/> effort,
                              though her lips were set hard, "I will do you the justice<lb/> to
                              belive that personal advantage does not influence you, and I will<lb/>
                              try to reason calmly with you, and convince you that you are<lb/>
                              simply hide-bound by old-world prejudice. Now, take yourself,<lb/> for
                              instance, who come here to instruct me : what does <emph rend="italic"
                                    >your</emph> pro-<lb/> fession amount to, when all's said and
                              done ? A mass of lies,<lb/> quibbles, dodges, and tricks, that would
                              make any self-respecting<lb/> executioner blush ! And even with the
                              dirty weapons at your<lb/> command, you make but a poor show of it.
                              There was that<lb/> wretched fellow you defended only two days ago. (I
                              was in<lb/> court during the trial professional interest, you know.)
                              Well,<lb/> he had his regular <emph rend="italic">alibi</emph> all
                              ready, as clear as clear could be ; only<lb/> you must needs go and
                              mess and bungle the thing up, so that, as I<lb/> expected all along,
                              he was passed on to me for treatment in due<lb/>
                        </p>
                        <fw type="catchword">course.</fw>
                        <pb n="42"/>
                        <fw type="runningHead">
                              <fw type="pageNum">32</fw> The Headswoman</fw>
                        <p>course. You may like to have his opinion—that of a shrewd,<lb/> though
                              unlettered person. 'It's a real pleasure, miss,' he said,<lb/> 'to be
                              handled by you. You <emph rend="italic">knows</emph> your work, and
                              you <emph rend="italic">does</emph> your<lb/> work—though p'raps I ses
                              it as shouldn't. If that blooming fool<lb/> of a mouthpiece of
                              mine'—he was referring to you, dear, in your<lb/> capacity of
                              advocate—'had known his business half as well as you<lb/> do yours, I
                              shouldn't a bin here now !' And you know,<lb/> Enguerrand, he was
                              perfectly right."</p>
                        <p>"Well, perhaps he was," admitted Enguerrand. "You see, I<lb/> had been
                              working at a sonnet the night before, and I couldn't get<lb/> the
                              rhymes right, and they would keep coming into my head in<lb/> court
                              and mixing themselves up with the <emph rend="italic">alibi</emph>.
                              But look here,<lb/> Jeanne, when you saw I was going off the track,
                              you might have<lb/> given me a friendly hint, you know—for old times'
                              sake, if not<lb/> for the prisoner's !"</p>
                        <p>"I daresay," replied Jeanne, calmly : "perhaps you'll tell me<lb/> why I
                              should sacrifice my interests because you're unable to look<lb/> after
                              yours. You forget that I receive a bonus, over and above<lb/> my
                              salary, upon each exercise of my functions !"</p>
                        <p>"True," said Enguerrand, gloomily : "I did forget that. I<lb/> wish I had
                              your business aptitudes, Jeanne."</p>
                        <p>"I daresay you do," remarked Jeanne. "But you see, dear,<lb/> how all
                              your arguments fall to the ground. You mistake a<lb/> prepossession
                              for a logical base. Now if I had gone, like that<lb/> Clairette you
                              used to dangle after, and been waiting-woman to<lb/> some grand lady
                              in a château—a thin-blooded compound of drudge<lb/> and
                              sycophant—then, I suppose, you'd have been perfectly satisfied.<lb/>
                              So feminine ! So genteel !"</p>
                        <p>"She's not a bad sort of girl, little Claire," said Enguerrand,<lb/>
                              reflectively (thereby angering Jeanne afresh) : "but putting her<lb/>
                              aside,—of course you could always beat me at argument, Jeanne ;<lb/>
                        </p>
                        <fw type="catchword">you'd</fw>
                        <pb n="43"/>
                        <fw type="runningHead">By Kenneth Grahame <fw type="pageNum">33</fw>
                        </fw>
                        <p>you'd have made a much better lawyer than I. But you know,<lb/> dear, how
                              much I care about you ; and I did hope that on that<lb/> account even
                              a prejudice, however unreasonable, might have some<lb/> little weight.
                              And I'm not alone, let me tell you, in my views.<lb/> There was a
                              fellow in court only to-day, who was saying that<lb/> yours was only a
                                    <emph rend="italic">succès d'estime</emph> and that woman, as a
                              naturally<lb/> talkative and hopelessly unpunctual animal, could never
                              be more<lb/> than a clever amateur in the profession you have
                              chosen."</p>
                        <p>"That will do, Enguerrand," said Jeanne, proudly ; "it seems<lb/> that
                              when argument fails, you can stoop so low as to insult me<lb/> through
                              my sex. You men are all alike—steeped in brutish<lb/> masculine
                              prejudice. Now go away, and don't mention the<lb/> subject to me again
                              till you're quite reasonable and nice."</p>
                        <p>III</p>
                        <p>Jeanne passed a somewhat restless night after her small scene<lb/> with
                              her cousin, waking depressed and unrefreshed. Though she<lb/> had
                              carried matters with so high a hand, and had scored so<lb/> distinctly
                              all around, she had been more agitated than she had<lb/> cared to
                              show. She liked Enguerrand ; and more especially did<lb/> she like his
                              admiration for her ; and that chance allusion to<lb/> Clairette
                              contained possibilities that were alarming. In embracing<lb/> a
                              professional career, she had never thought for a moment that it<lb/>
                              could militate against that due share of admiration to which, as
                              a<lb/> girl, she was justly entitled ; and Enguerrand's views seemed
                              this<lb/> morning all the more narrow and inexcusable. She rose
                              languidly,<lb/> and as soon as she was dressed sent off a little note
                              to the Mayor,<lb/> saying that she had a nervous headache and felt out
                              of sorts, and<lb/>
                        </p>
                        <fw type="catchword">begging</fw>
                        <pb n="44"/>
                        <fw type="runningHead">
                              <fw type="pageNum">34</fw> The Headswoman</fw>
                        <p>begging to be excused from attendance on that day ; and the<lb/> missive
                              reached the Mayor just as he was taking his usual place at<lb/> the
                              head of the Board.</p>
                        <p>"Dear, dear," said the kind-hearted old man, as soon as he had<lb/> read
                              the letter to his fellow-councilmen : "I'm very sorry. Poor<lb/> girl
                              ! Here, one of you fellows, just run round and tell the gaoler<lb/>
                              there won't be any business to-day. Jeanne's seedy. It's put off<lb/>
                              till to-morrow. And now, gentlemen, the agenda——"</p>
                        <p>"Really, your worship," exploded Robinet, "this is simply<lb/> ridiculous
                              !" </p>
                        <p>"Upon my word, Robinet," said the Mayor, "I don't know<lb/> what's the
                              matter with you. Here's a poor girl unwell—and a<lb/> more hardworking
                              girl isn't in the town—and instead of sym-<lb/> pathising with her,
                              and saying you re sorry, you call it ridiculous !<lb/> Suppose you had
                              a headache yourself! You wouldn't like——"</p>
                        <p>"But it <emph rend="italic">is</emph> ridiculous," maintained the tanner
                              stoutly. "Who<lb/> ever heard of an executioner having a nervous
                              headache ? There's<lb/> no precedent for it. And 'out of sorts,' too!
                              Suppose the<lb/> criminals said they were out of sorts, and didn't
                              feel up to being<lb/> executed ?"</p>
                        <p>"Well, suppose they did," replied the Mayor, "we'd try and<lb/> meet them
                              halfway, I daresay. They'd have to be executed<lb/> some time or
                              other, you know. Why on earth are you so<lb/> captious about trifles ?
                              The prisoners won't mind, and <emph rend="italic">I</emph> don't<lb/>
                              mind : nobody's inconvenienced, and everybody's happy !"</p>
                        <p>"You're right there, Mr. Mayor," put in another councilman.<lb/> "This
                              executing business used to give the town a lot of trouble<lb/> and
                              bother ; now it's all as easy as kiss-your-hand. Instead of<lb/>
                              objecting, as they used to do, and wanting to argue the point and<lb/>
                              kick up a row, the fellows as is told off for execution come<lb/>
                              skipping along in the morning, like a lot of lambs in Maytime.<lb/>
                        </p>
                        <fw type="catchword">And</fw>
                        <pb n="45"/>
                        <fw type="runningHead">By Kenneth Grahame <fw type="pageNum">35</fw>
                        </fw>
                        <p> And then the fun there is on the scaffold ! The jokes, the back-<lb/>
                              answers, the repartees ! And never a word to shock a baby !<lb/> Why,
                              my little girl, as goes through the market-place every morn-<lb/>
                              ing—on her way to school, you know—she says to me only<lb/> yesterday,
                              she says, 'Why, father,' she says, 'it's as good as the<lb/>
                              play-actors,' she says."</p>
                        <p>"There again," persisted Robinet, "I object to that too.<lb/> They ought
                              to show a properer feeling. Playing at mummers is<lb/> one thing, and
                              being executed is another, and people ought to<lb/> keep 'em separate.
                              In my father's time, that sort of thing wasn't<lb/> thought good
                              taste, and I don't hold with new-fangled notions."</p>
                        <p>"Well, really, neighbour," said the Mayor, "I think you're out<lb/> of
                              sorts yourself to-day. You must have got out of bed the<lb/> wrong
                              side this morning. As for a little joke, more or less, we<lb/> all
                              know a maiden loves a merry jest when she's certain of having<lb/> the
                              last word ! But I'll tell you what I'll do, if it'll please you ;<lb/>
                              I'll go round and see Jeanne myself on my way home, and tell<lb/>
                              her—quite nicely, you know—that once in a way doesn't matter,<lb/> but
                              that if she feels her health won't let her keep regular<lb/> business
                              hours, she mustn't think of going on with anything that's<lb/> bad for
                              her. Like that, don't you see ? And now, gentlemen,<lb/> let's read
                              the minutes !"</p>
                        <p>Thus it came about that Jeanne took her usual walk that<lb/> evening with
                              a ruffled brow and a swelling heart ; and her little<lb/> hand opened
                              and shut angrily as she paced the ramparts. She<lb/> couldn't stand
                              being found fault with. How could she help<lb/> having a headache ?
                              Those clods of citizens didn't know what a<lb/> highly-strung
                              sensitive organisation was. Absorbed in her re-<lb/> flections, she
                              had taken several turns up and down the grassy foot-<lb/> way, before
                              she became aware that she was not alone. A youth,<lb/> of richer dress
                              and more elegant bearing than the general run of<lb/>
                        </p>
                        <fw type="catchword">the</fw>
                        <pb n="46"/>
                        <fw type="runningHead">
                              <fw type="pageNum">36</fw> The Headswoman</fw>
                        <p>the Radegundians, was leaning in an embrasure, watching the<lb/> graceful
                              figure with evident interest.</p>
                        <p>"Something has vexed you, fair maiden ?" he observed, coming<lb/> forward
                              deferentially as soon as he perceived he was noticed ;<lb/> "and care
                              sits but awkwardly on that smooth young brow."</p>
                        <p>"Nay, it is nothing, kind sir," replied Jeanne ; "we girls who<lb/> work
                              for our living must not be too sensitive. My employers<lb/> have been
                              somewhat exigent, that is all. I did wrong to take it<lb/> to
                              heart."</p>
                        <p>"Tis the way of the bloated capitalist," rejoined the young<lb/> man
                              lightly, as he turned to walk by her side. "They grind us,<lb/> they
                              grind us ; perhaps some day they will come under your hands<lb/> in
                              turn, and then you can pay them out. And so you toil and<lb/> spin,
                              fair lily ! And yet methinks those delicate hands show little<lb/>
                              trace of labour ?"</p>
                        <p>"You wrong me, indeed, sir," replied Jeanne merrily. "These<lb/> hands of
                              mine, that you are so good as to admire, do great execu-<lb/> tion
                              !"</p>
                        <p>"I can well believe that your victims are numerous," he<lb/> replied ;
                              "may I be permitted to rank myself among the latest of<lb/> them
                              ?"</p>
                        <p>"I wish you a better fortune, kind sir," answered Jeanne<lb/>
                              demurely.</p>
                        <p>"I can imagine no more delightful one," he replied; "and<lb/> where do
                              you ply your daily task, fair mistress ? Not entirely out<lb/> of
                              sight and access, I trust ?"</p>
                        <p>"Nay, sir," laughed Jeanne, "I work in the market-place most<lb/>
                              mornings, and there is no charge for admission ; and access is
                              far<lb/> from difficult. Indeed, some complain—but that is no
                              business<lb/> of mine. And now I must be wishing you a good
                              evening.<lb/> Nay"—for he would have detained her—"it is not seemly
                              for an<lb/>
                        </p>
                        <fw type="catchword">unprotected</fw>
                        <pb n="47"/>
                        <fw type="runningHead">By Kenneth Grahame <fw type="pageNum">37</fw>
                        </fw>
                        <p>unprotected maiden to tarry in converse with a stranger at this<lb/>
                              hour. <emph rend="italic">Au revoir</emph>, sir ! If you should happen
                              to be in the market-<lb/> place any morning"——And she tripped lightly
                              away. The youth,<lb/> gazing after her retreating figure, confessed
                              himself strangely<lb/> fascinated by this fair unknown, whose
                              particular employment, by<lb/> the way, he had forgotten to ask ;
                              while Jeanne, as she sped<lb/> homewards, could not help reflecting
                              that for style and distinction,<lb/> this new acquaintance threw into
                              the shade all the Enguerrands<lb/> and others she had met
                              hitherto—even in the course of business.</p>
                        <p>IV</p>
                        <p>The next morning was bright and breezy, and Jeanne was early<lb/> at her
                              post, feeling quite a different girl. The busy little market-<lb/>
                              place was full of colour and movement, and the gay patches of<lb/>
                              flowers and fruit, the strings of fluttering kerchiefs, and the
                              piles<lb/> of red and yellow pottery, formed an artistic setting to
                              the quiet<lb/> impressive scaffold which they framed. Jeanne was in
                              short<lb/> sleeves, according to the etiquette of her office, and her
                              round<lb/> graceful arms showed snowily against her dark blue skirt
                              and<lb/> scarlet tight-fitting bodice. Her assistant looked at her
                              with<lb/> admiration.</p>
                        <p>"Hope you're better, miss," he said respectfully. "It was just<lb/> as
                              well you didn't put yourself out to come yesterday ; there was<lb/>
                              nothing particular to do. Only one fellow, and he said <emph
                                    rend="italic">he</emph> didn't<lb/> care ; anything to oblige a
                              lady !"</p>
                        <p>"Well, I wish he'd hurry up now, to oblige a lady," said<lb/> Jeanne,
                              swinging her axe carelessly to and fro : "ten minutes past<lb/> the
                              hour ; I shall have to talk to the Mayor about this."</p>
                        <fw type="footer">The Yellow Book—Vol. III.<emph>C</emph>
                        </fw>
                        <fw type="catchword">"It's</fw>
                        <pb n="48"/>
                        <fw type="runningHead">
                              <fw type="pageNum">38</fw> The Headswoman</fw>
                        <p>"It's a pity there ain't a better show this morning," pursued<lb/> the
                              assistant, as he leant over the rail of the scaffold and spat<lb/>
                              meditatively into the busy throng below. "They do say as how<lb/> the
                              young Seigneur arrived at the Château yesterday—him as has<lb/> been
                              finishing his education in Paris, you know. He's as likely as<lb/> not
                              to be in the market-place to-day ; and if he's disappointed, he<lb/>
                              may go off to Paris again, which would be a pity, seeing the<lb/>
                              Château's been empty so long. But he may go to Paris, or<lb/>
                              anywheres else he's a mind to, he won t see better workmanship<lb/>
                              than in this here little town !"</p>
                        <p>"Well, my good Raoul," said Jeanne, colouring slightly at the<lb/>
                              obvious compliment, "quality, not quantity, is what we aim at<lb/>
                              here, you know. If a Paris education has been properly assimi-<lb/>
                              lated by the Seigneur, he will not fail to make all the necessary<lb/>
                              allowances. But see, the prison-doors are opening at last !"</p>
                        <p>They both looked across the little square to the prison, which<lb/>
                              fronted the scaffold ; and sure enough, a small body of men, the<lb/>
                              Sheriff at their head, was issuing from the building, conveying,
                              or<lb/> endeavouring to convey, the tardy prisoner to the scaffold.
                              That<lb/> gentleman, however, seemed to be in a different and less
                              obliging<lb/> frame of mind from that of the previous day ; and at
                              every pace<lb/> one or other of the guards was shot violently into the
                              middle of<lb/> the square, propelled by a vigorous kick or blow from
                              the struggling<lb/> captive. The crowd, unaccustomed of late to such
                              demonstrations<lb/> of feeling, and resenting the prisoner's want of
                              taste, hooted<lb/> loudly ; but it was not until that ingenious
                              mediaeval arrangement<lb/> known as <emph rend="italic">la marche aux
                                    crapauds</emph> had been brought to bear<lb/> on him, that the
                              reluctant convict could be prevailed upon<lb/> to present himself
                              before the young lady he had already so<lb/> unwarrantably
                              detained.</p>
                        <p>Jeanne's profession had both accustomed her to surprises<lb/>
                        </p>
                        <fw type="catchword">and</fw>
                        <pb n="49"/>
                        <fw type="runningHead">By Kenneth Grahame <fw type="pageNum">39</fw>
                        </fw>
                        <p>and taught her the futility of considering her clients as drawn<lb/> from
                              any one particular class : yet she could hardly hel<lb/> feeling some
                              astonishment on recognising her new acquaintance<lb/> of the previous
                              evening. That, with all his evident amiability of<lb/> character, he
                              should come to this end, was not in itself a special<lb/> subject for
                              wonder ; but that he should have been conversing with<lb/> her on the
                              ramparts at the hour when—after courteously excusing<lb/> her
                              attendance on the scaffold— he was cooling his heels in prison<lb/>
                              for another day, seemed hardly to be accounted for, at first
                              sight.<lb/> Jeanne, however, reflected that the reconciling of
                              apparent contra-<lb/> dictions was not included in her official
                              duties.</p>
                        <p> The Sheriff, wiping his heated brow, now read the formal<lb/>
                              <emph rend="italic">procѐs</emph> delivering over the prisoner to the
                              executioner's hands ;<lb/> "and a nice job we've had to get him here,"
                              he added on<lb/> his own account. And the young man, who had
                              remained<lb/> perfectly tractable since his arrival, stepped forward
                              and bowed<lb/> politely.</p>
                        <p>"Now that we have been properly introduced," said he<lb/> courteously,
                              "allow me to apologise for any inconvenience you<lb/> have been put to
                              by my delay. The fault was entirely mine, and<lb/> these gentlemen are
                              in no way to blame. Had I known whom I<lb/> was to have the pleasure
                              of meeting, wings could not have con-<lb/> veyed me swiftly
                              enough."</p>
                        <p>"Do not mention, I pray, the word inconvenience," replied<lb/> Jeanne
                              with that timid grace which so well became her : "I only<lb/> trust
                              that any slight discomfort it may be my duty to cause you<lb/> before
                              we part, will be as easily pardoned. And now—for the<lb/> morning,
                              alas ! advances—any little advice or assistance that I<lb/> can offer
                              is quite at your service ; for the situation is possibly new,<lb/> and
                              you may have had but little experience."</p>
                        <p>"Faith, none worth mentioning," said the prisoner, gaily.<lb/>
                        </p>
                        <fw type="catchword">"Treat</fw>
                        <pb n="50"/>
                        <fw type="runningHead">
                              <fw type="pageNum">40</fw> The Headswoman</fw>
                        <p>"Treat me as a raw beginner. Though our acquaintance has been<lb/> but
                              brief, I have the utmost confidence in you."</p>
                        <p> "Then, sir," said Jeanne, blushing, "suppose I were to assist<lb/> you
                              in removing this gay doublet, so as to give both of us more<lb/>
                              freedom and less responsibility ?"</p>
                        <p>"A perquisite of the office ?" queried the prisoner with a smile,<lb/> as
                              he slipped one arm out of the sleeve.</p>
                        <p>A flush came over Jeanne's fair brow. "That was un-<lb/> generous," she
                              said.</p>
                        <p>"Nay, pardon me, sweet one," said he, laughing : "twas but a<lb/> poor
                              jest of mine—in bad taste, I willingly admit."</p>
                        <p>"I was sure you did not mean to hurt me," she replied kindly,<lb/> while
                              her fingers were busy in turning back the collar of his shirt.<lb/> It
                              was composed, she noticed, of the finest point lace ; and she<lb/>
                              could not help a feeling of regret that some slight error—as
                              must,<lb/> from what she knew, exist somewhere—should compel her to
                              take<lb/> a course so at variance with her real feelings. Her only
                              comfort<lb/> was that the youth himself seemed entirely satisfied with
                              his<lb/> situation. He hummed the last air from Paris during her
                              minis-<lb/> trations, and when she had quite finished, kissed the
                              pretty fingers<lb/> with a metropolitan grace.</p>
                        <p>"And now, sir," said Jeanne, "if you will kindly come this<lb/> way : and
                              please to mind the step—so. Now, if you will have<lb/> the goodness to
                              kneel here—nay, the sawdust is perfectly clean ;<lb/> you are my first
                              client this morning. On the other side of the<lb/> block you will find
                              a nick, more or less adapted to the human chin,<lb/> though a perfect
                              fit cannot of course be guaranteed in every case.<lb/> So ! Are you
                              pretty comfortable ?"</p>
                        <p>"A bed of roses," replied the prisoner. "And what a really<lb/> admirable
                              view one gets of the valley and the river, from just this<lb/>
                              particular point !"</p>
                        <fw type="catchword">"Charming</fw>
                        <pb n="51"/>
                        <fw type="runningHead">By Kenneth Grahame <fw type="pageNum">41</fw>
                        </fw>
                        <p>"Charming, is it not ?" replied Jeanne. " I'm so glad you do<lb/> justice
                              to it. Some of your predecessors have really quite vexed<lb/> me by
                              their inability to appreciate that view. It's worth coming<lb/> here
                              to see it. And now, to return to business for one moment,<lb/>—would
                              you prefer to give the word yourself ? Some people do ;<lb/> it's a
                              mere matter of taste. Or will you leave yourself entirely<lb/> in my
                              hands ?"</p>
                        <p>"Oh, in your fair hands," replied her client, "which I beg you<lb/> to
                              consider respectfully kissed once more by your faithful servant<lb/>
                              to command."</p>
                        <p>Jeanne, blushing rosily, stepped back a pace, moistening her<lb/> palms
                              as she grasped her axe, when a puffing and blowing behind<lb/> caused
                              her to turn her head, and she perceived the Mayor hastily<lb/>
                              ascending the scaffold.</p>
                        <p>"Hold on a minute, Jeanne, my girl," he gasped. "Don't be<lb/> in a
                              hurry. There's been some little mistake."</p>
                        <p>Jeanne drew herself up with dignity. "I'm afraid I don't<lb/> quite
                              understand you, Mr. Mayor," she replied in freezing<lb/> accents.
                              "There's been no little mistake on my part that I'm<lb/> aware
                              of."</p>
                        <p>"No, no, no," said the Mayor, apologetically ; "but on some-<lb/> body
                              else's there has. You see it happened in this way : this<lb/> here
                              young fellow was going round the town last night ; and he'd<lb/> been
                              dining, I should say, and he was carrying on rather free. I<lb/> will
                              only say so much in your presence, that he was carrying on<lb/>
                              decidedly free. So the town-guard happened to come across him,<lb/>
                              and he was very high and very haughty, he was, and wouldn't<lb/> give
                              his name nor yet his address—as a gentleman should, you<lb/> know,
                              when he's been dining and carrying on free. So our<lb/> fellows just
                              ran him in—and it took the pick of them all their<lb/> time to do it,
                              too. Well, then, the other chap who was in prison—<lb/>
                        </p>
                        <fw type="catchword">the</fw>
                        <pb n="52"/>
                        <fw type="runningHead">
                              <fw type="pageNum">42</fw> The Headswoman</fw>
                        <p>the gentleman who obliged you yesterday, you know—what does<lb/> he do
                              but slip out and run away in the middle of all the row<lb/> and
                              confusion ; and very inconsiderate and ungentlemanly it was<lb/> of
                              him to take advantage of us in that mean way, just when we<lb/> wanted
                              a little sympathy and forbearance. Well, the Sheriff<lb/> comes this
                              morning to fetch out his man for execution, and he<lb/> knows there's
                              only one man to execute, and he sees there's only<lb/> one man in
                              prison, and it all seems as simple as A B C—he never<lb/> was much of
                              a mathematician, you know—so he fetches our friend<lb/> here along,
                              quite gaily. And—and that's how it came about, you<lb/> see ; <emph
                                    rend="italic">hinc illae lachrymae</emph> as the Roman poet has
                              it. So now I<lb/> shall just give this young fellow a good talking to,
                              and discharge<lb/> him with a caution ; and we shan't require you any
                              more to-day,<lb/> Jeanne, my girl."</p>
                        <p>"Now, look here, Mr. Mayor," said Jeanne severely, "you<lb/> utterly fail
                              to grasp the situation in its true light. All these little<lb/>
                              details may be interesting in themselves, and doubtless the press<lb/>
                              will take note of them ; but they are entirely beside the point.<lb/>
                              With the muddleheadedness of your officials (which I have<lb/>
                              frequently remarked upon) I have nothing whatever to do. All I<lb/>
                              know is, that this young gentleman has been formally handed over<lb/>
                              to me for execution, with all the necessary legal requirements ;
                              and<lb/> executed he has got to be. When my duty has been
                              performed,<lb/> you are at liberty to re-open the case if you like ;
                              and any 'little<lb/> mistake' that may have occurred through your
                              stupidity you can<lb/> then rectify at your leisure. Meantime, you've
                              no <emph rend="italic">locus standi</emph>
                              <lb/> here at all ; in fact, you've no business whatever lumbering up
                              my<lb/> scaffold. So shut up and clear out."</p>
                        <p>"Now, Jeanne, do be reasonable," implored the Mayor. "You<lb/> women are
                              so precise. You never will make any allowance for<lb/> the necessary
                              margin of error in things."</p>
                        <fw type="catchword">"If</fw>
                        <pb n="53"/>
                        <fw type="runningHead">By Kenneth Grahame <fw type="pageNum">43</fw>
                        </fw>
                        <p>"If I were to allow the necessary margin for all <emph rend="italic"
                                    >your</emph> errors,<lb/> Mayor," replied Jeanne, coolly, " the
                              edition would have to be a<lb/> large-paper one, and even then the
                              text would stand a poor chance.<lb/> And now, if you don t allow me
                              the necessary margin to swing<lb/> my axe, there may be another
                              'little mistake'—"</p>
                        <p>But at this point a hubbub arose at the foot of the scaffold, and<lb/>
                              Jeanne, leaning over, perceived sundry tall fellows, clad in the<lb/>
                              livery of the Seigneur, engaged in dispersing the municipal guard<lb/>
                              by the agency of well-directed kicks, applied with heartiness<lb/> and
                              anatomical knowledge. A moment later, there strode on to the<lb/>
                              scaffold, clad in black velvet, and adorned with his gold chain
                              of<lb/> office, the stately old seneschal of the Château, evidently in
                              a<lb/> towering passion.</p>
                        <p>"Now, mark my words, you miserable little bladder-o'-lard," he<lb/>
                              roared at the Mayor (whose bald head certainly shone provokingly<lb/>
                              in the morning sun), "see if I don't take this out of your skin<lb/>
                              presently !" And he passed on to where the youth was still<lb/>
                              kneeling, apparently quite absorbed in the view.</p>
                        <p>"My lord," he said, firmly though respectfully, "your hair-<lb/> brained
                              folly really passes all bounds. Have you entirely lost your<lb/> head
                              ?"</p>
                        <p>"Faith, nearly," said the young man, rising and stretching him-<lb/>
                              self. "Is that you, old Thibault ? Ow, what a crick I've got<lb/> in
                              my neck ! But that view of the valley was really de-<lb/> lightful
                              !"</p>
                        <p>"Did you come here simply to admire the view, my lord ?"<lb/> inquired
                              Thibault severely.</p>
                        <p>"I came because my horse would come," replied the young<lb/> Seigneur
                              lightly : "that is, these gentlemen here were so pressing ;<lb/> they
                              would not hear of any refusal ; and besides, they forgot to<lb/>
                              mention what my attendance was required in such a hurry for.<lb/>
                        </p>
                        <fw type="catchword">And</fw>
                        <pb n="54"/>
                        <fw type="runningHead">
                              <fw type="pageNum">44</fw> The Headswoman</fw>
                        <p>And when I got here, Thibault, old fellow, and saw that divine<lb/>
                              creature—nay, a goddess, <emph rend="italic">dea certé</emph>—so
                              graceful, so modest, so<lb/> anxious to acquit herself with credit——
                              Well, you know my<lb/> weakness ; I never could bear to disappoint a
                              woman. She had<lb/> evidently set her heart on taking my head ; and as
                              she had my<lb/> heart already——"</p>
                        <p>"I think, my lord," said Thibault with some severity, "you<lb/> had
                              better let me escort you back to the Château. This appears<lb/> to be
                              hardly a safe place for light-headed and susceptible persons !"</p>
                        <p>Jeanne, as was natural, had the last word. "Understand me,<lb/> Mr.
                              Mayor," said she, " these proceedings are entirely irregular.<lb/> I
                              decline to recognise them, and when the quarter expires I shall<lb/>
                              claim the usual bonus !"</p>
                        <p>V</p>
                        <p>When, an hour or two later, an invitation arrived—courteously<lb/>
                              worded, but significantly backed by an escort of half-a-dozen
                              tall<lb/> archers—for both Jeanne and the Mayor to attend at the
                              Château<lb/> without delay, Jeanne for her part received it with
                              neither sur-<lb/> prise nor reluctance. She had felt it especially
                              hard that the only<lb/> two interviews fate had granted her with the
                              one man who had<lb/> made some impression on her heart, should be
                              hampered, the one<lb/> by considerations of propriety, the other by
                              the conflicting claims<lb/> of her profession and its duties. On this
                              occasion, now, she<lb/> would have an excellent chaperon in the Mayor
                              ; and business<lb/> being over for the day, they could meet and unbend
                              on a common<lb/> social footing. The Mayor was not at all surprised
                              either, consider-<lb/> ing what had gone before ; but he was
                              exceedingly terrified, and<lb/> sought some consolation from Jeanne as
                              they proceeded together<lb/>
                        </p>
                        <fw type="catchword">to</fw>
                        <pb n="55"/>
                        <fw type="runningHead">By Kenneth Grahame <fw type="pageNum">45</fw>
                        </fw>
                        <p>to the Château. That young lady's remarks, however, could<lb/> hardly be
                              called exactly comforting.</p>
                        <p>"I always thought you'd put your foot in it some day, Mayor,"<lb/> she
                              said. "You are so hopelessly wanting in system and method.<lb/>
                              Really, under the present happy-go-lucky police arrangements, I<lb/>
                              never know whom I may not be called upon to execute. Between<lb/> you
                              and my cousin Enguerrand, life is hardly safe in this town.<lb/> And
                              the worst of it is, that we other officials on the staff have to<lb/>
                              share in the discredit."</p>
                        <p>"What do you think they'll do to me, Jeanne ?" whimpered<lb/> the Mayor,
                              perspiring freely.</p>
                        <p>"Can't say, I'm sure," pursued the candid Jeanne. "Of course,<lb/> if
                              it's anything in the <emph rend="italic">rack</emph> line of business,
                              I shall have to super-<lb/> intend the arrangements, and then you can
                              feel sure you're in<lb/> capable hands. But probably they'll only fine
                              you pretty smartly,<lb/> give you a month or two in the dungeons, and
                              dismiss you from<lb/> your post ; and you will hardly grudge any
                              slight personal incon-<lb/> venience resulting from an arrangement so
                              much to the advantage<lb/> of the town."</p>
                        <p>This was hardly reassuring, but the Mayor's official reprimand<lb/> of
                              the previous day still rankled in this unforgiving young person's<lb/>
                              mind.</p>
                        <p>On their reaching the Château, the Mayor was conducted aside,<lb/> to be
                              dealt with by Thibault ; and from the sounds of agonised<lb/>
                              protestation and lament which shortly reached Jeanne's ears, it<lb/>
                              was evident that he was having a <emph rend="italic">mauvais quart
                                    d'heure</emph>. The<lb/> young lady was shown respectfully into
                              a chamber apart, where<lb/> she had hardly had time to admire
                              sufficiently the good taste of<lb/> the furniture and the magnificence
                              of the tapestry with which the<lb/> walls were hung, when the Seigneur
                              entered and welcomed her<lb/> with a cordial grace that put her
                              entirely at her ease.</p>
                        <fw type="catchword">"Your</fw>
                        <pb n="56"/>
                        <fw type="runningHead">
                              <fw type="pageNum">46</fw> The Headswoman</fw>
                        <p>"Your punctuality puts me to shame, fair mistress," he said,<lb/>
                              "considering how unwarrantably I kept you waiting this morning,<lb/>
                              and how I tested your patience by my ignorance and awkward-<lb/>
                              ness."</p>
                        <p>He had changed his dress, and the lace round his neck was even<lb/>
                              richer than before. Jeanne had always considered one of the<lb/> chief
                              marks of a well-bred man to be a fine disregard for the<lb/> amount of
                              his washing-bill ; and then with what good taste he<lb/> referred to
                              recent events—putting himself in the wrong, as a<lb/> gentleman should
                              !</p>
                        <p>"Indeed, my lord," she replied modestly, "I was only too<lb/> anxious to
                              hear from your own lips that you bore me no ill-will<lb/> for the part
                              forced on me by circumstances in our recent interview.<lb/> Your
                              lordship has sufficient critical good sense, I feel sure, to<lb/>
                              distinguish between the woman and the official."</p>
                        <p>"True, Jeanne," he replied, drawing nearer; "and while I<lb/> shrink from
                              expressing, in their fulness, all the feelings that the<lb/> woman
                              inspires in me, I have no hesitation—for I know it will<lb/> give you
                              pleasure—in acquainting you with the entire artistic<lb/> satisfaction
                              with which I watched you at your task !"</p>
                        <p>"But, indeed" said Jeanne, "you did not see me at my best.<lb/> In fact,
                              I can't help wishing—it's ridiculous, I know, because the<lb/> thing
                              is hardly practicable—but if I could only have carried my<lb/>
                              performance quite through, and put the last finishing touches to<lb/>
                              it, you would not have been judging me now by the mere<lb/>
                              'blocking-in' of what promised to be a masterpiece !"</p>
                        <p>"Yes, I wish it could have been arranged somehow," said the<lb/> Seigneur
                              reflectively; "but perhaps it's better as it is. I am con-<lb/> tent
                              to let the artist remain for the present on trust, if I may only<lb/>
                              take over, fully paid up, the woman I adore !"</p>
                        <p>Jeanne felt strangely weak. The official seemed oozing out at<lb/>
                        </p>
                        <fw type="catchword">her</fw>
                        <pb n="57"/>
                        <fw type="runningHead">By Kenneth Grahame <fw type="pageNum">47</fw>
                        </fw>
                        <p>her fingers and toes, while the woman's heart beat even more dis-<lb/>
                              tressingly.</p>
                        <p>"I have one little question to ask," he murmured (his arm<lb/> was about
                              her now). "Do I understand that you still claim your<lb/> bonus ?"</p>
                        <p>Jeanne felt like water in his strong embrace ; but she nerved<lb/>
                              herself to answer faintly but firmly : "Yes !"</p>
                        <p>"Then so do I," he replied, as his lips met hers.</p>
                        <p>*****</p>
                        <p>Executions continued to occur in St. Radegonde ; the Rade-<lb/> gundians
                              being conservative and very human. But much of the<lb/> innocent
                              enjoyment that formerly attended them departed after<lb/> the fair
                              Chatelaine had ceased to officiate. Enguerrand, on suc-<lb/> ceeding
                              to the post, wedded Clairette, she being (he was heard to<lb/> say) a
                              more suitable match in mind and temper than others of<lb/> whom he
                              would name no names. Rumour had it, that he found<lb/> his match and
                              something over ; while as for temper—and mind<lb/> (which she gave him
                              in bits)—— But the domestic trials of high-<lb/> placed officials have
                              a right to be held sacred. The profession, in<lb/> spite of his best
                              endeavours, languished nevertheless. Some said<lb/> that the scaffold
                              lacked its old attraction for criminals of spirit ;<lb/> others, more
                              unkindly, that the headsman was the innocent cause,<lb/> and that
                              Enguerrand was less fatal in his new sphere than<lb/> formerly, when
                              practising in the criminal court as advocate for<lb/> the defence.</p>
                  </div>
            </body>
      </text>
</TEI>
