a game-bag. If she had had any fears this would have put an end to
them.

"Then you are a keeper?" she said.

"No, madame; in order to be a keeper we must take a certain oath; and to
take an oath we must have civic rights."

"Who are you, then?"

"I am Farrabesche," he said, with deep humility, lowering his eyes to
the ground.

Madame Graslin, to whom the name told nothing, looked at the man and
noticed in his face, the expression of which was now very gentle, the
signs of underlying ferocity; irregular teeth gave to the mouth, the
lips blood-red, an ironical expression full of evil audacity; the dark
and prominent cheek-bones had something animal about them. The man was
of middle height, with strong shoulders, a thick-set neck, and the large
hairy hands of violent men capable of using their strength in a brutal
manner. His last words pointed to some mystery, to which his bearing,
the expression of his countenance, and his whole person, gave a sinister
meaning.

"You must be in my service, then?" said Veronique in a gentle voice.

"Have I the honor of speaking to Madame Graslin?" asked Farrabesche.

"Yes, my friend," she answered.

Farrabesche instantly disappeared, with the rapidity of a wild animal,
after casting a glance at his mistress that was full of fear.

XIII. FARRABESCHE

Veronique hastened to mount her horse and rejoin the servants, who were
beginning to be uneasy about her; for the strange unhealthiness of the
Roche-Vive was well known throughout the neighborhood. Colorat begged
his mistress to go down into the little valley which led to the plain.
It would be dangerous, he said, to return by the hills, or by the
tangled paths they had followed in the morning, where, even with his
knowledge of the country, they were likely to be lost in the dusk.

Once on the plain Veronique rode slowly.

"Who is this Farrabesche whom you employ?" she asked her forester.

"Has madame met him?" cried Colorat.

"Yes, but he ran away from me."

"Poor man! perhaps he does not know how kind madame is."

"But what has he done?"

"Ah! madame, Farrabesche is a murderer," replied Champion, simply.

"Then they pardoned him!" said Veronique, in a trembling voice.

"No, madame," replied Colorat, "Farrabesche was tried and condemned
to ten years at the galleys; he served half his time, and then he
was released on parole and came here in 1827. He owes his life to the
rector, who persuaded him to give himsel