There was a backward rush, then all stood still again
staring one way; for there, behind the bier, with eyes cast down and
labored step, walked the living remains--all that was left--of little
Jacques Poquelin, the long-hidden brother--a leper, as white as snow.
Dumb with horror, the cringing crowd gazed upon the walking death. They
watched, in silent awe, the slow _cortege_ creep down the long, straight
road and lessen on the view, until by and by it stopped where a wild,
unfrequented path branched off into the undergrowth toward the rear of
the ancient city.
"They are going to the _Terre aux Lepreux_," said one in the crowd. The
rest watched them in silence.
The little bull was set free; the mute, with the strength of an ape,
lifted the long box to his shoulder. For a moment more the mute and the
leper stood in sight, while the former adjusted his heavy burden; then,
without one backward glance upon the unkind human world, turning their
faces toward the ridge in the depths of the swamp known as the Leper's
Land, they stepped into the jungle, disappeared, and were never seen
again.
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