rgot knew that the woman was after her she increased her speed,
but all in vain; the gipsy came on like the giant with the
seven-leagued boots; she caught the terrified child in her arms, put a
corner of her ragged cloak into her mouth, and, turning out of the path
down into a hollow of the hills, hoped to be clear in a minute more.

"But she was not to have that minute; Wolf was behind; he had flown
with the swiftness of the wild hart, and when within leaping distance
of the old woman, he sprang upon her, and caused his fangs to meet in
her leg. She uttered a cry, and tried to shake him off, but he only let
go in one place to seize another, so she was forced to drop the
struggling child in order to defend herself from the dog, for she
expected next that he would fly at her throat. It was a fearful battle
that, between the hardy gipsy and the enraged dog. The howlings and
bayings of the furious animal were terrible, his fangs were red with
the gipsy's blood; the woman, in her fear and pain, uttered the most
horrid words, whilst little Margot shrieked with terror. Though the
battle hardly lasted two minutes, it gave time for Jacques to come in
sight of it on one side; the pastor, the count, and his son at another.

"Jacques did not understand the cause of this terrible war; he only saw
that his dog was tearing the flesh of a woman; he did not at first see
Margot, who had sunk in terror on the grass; therefore he called off
his dog with a voice of authority, and the moment Wolf had loosed his
hold of the woman, she fled from the place, and was never more seen in
that country. But now all this party had met round Margot, looking all
amazement at each other, whilst the little one sat sobbing on the
ground, and Wolf stood looking anxiously at his young master, panting
from his late exertions, and licking his bloody fangs, for there was no
one to explain anything but the child.

"'What is all this, Jacques?' asked the pastor.

"'What is it, Margot?' said Jacques, taking his little sister in his
arms, and soothing her as he well knew how to do; whilst she, clinging
close to him, could not at first find one word to say.

"Jacques carried the child, and they all went back into the path, where
the countess sat, anxiously waiting for them, on her mule.

"All that Margot could say to be understood was:

"'Run, run, to poor Meeta--they will kill her; the man will kill her,
and Wolf is not there.'

"Jacques repeated her words