l; but the bell was without a
clapper.

The huntsmen heard nothing but the curiously sharp noise of a rusty
spring. Though very dilapidated, a little door made in the wall beside
the iron gates resisted all their efforts to open it.

"Well, well, this is getting to be exciting," said de Sucy to his
companion.

"If I were not a magistrate," replied Monsieur d'Albon, "I should think
that woman was a witch."

As he said the words, the cow came to the iron gate and pushed her warm
muzzle towards them, as if she felt the need of seeing human beings.
Then a woman, if that name could be applied to the indefinable being who
suddenly issued from a clump of bushes, pulled away the cow by its rope.
This woman wore on her head a red handkerchief, beneath which trailed
long locks of hair in color and shape like the flax on a distaff. She
wore no fichu. A coarse woollen petticoat in black and gray stripes, too
short by several inches, exposed her legs. She might have belonged to
some tribe of Red-Skins described by Cooper, for her legs, neck, and
arms were the color of brick. No ray of intelligence enlivened her
vacant face. A few whitish hairs served her for eyebrows; the eyes
themselves, of a dull blue, were cold and wan; and her mouth was so
formed as to show the teeth, which were crooked, but as white as those
of a dog.

"Here, my good woman!" called Monsieur de Sucy.

She came very slowly to the gate, looking with a silly expression at the
two huntsmen, the sight of whom brought a forced and painful smile to
her face.

"Where are we? Whose house is this? Who are you? Do you belong here?"

To these questions and several others which the two friends alternately
addressed to her, she answered only with guttural sounds that seemed
more like the growl of an animal than the voice of a human being.

"She must be deaf and dumb," said the marquis.

"Bons-Hommes!" cried the peasant woman.

"Ah! I see. This is, no doubt, the old monastery of the Bons-Hommes,"
said the marquis.

He renewed his questions. But, like a capricious child, the peasant
woman colored, played with her wooden shoe, twisted the rope of the
cow, which was now feeding peaceably, and looked at the two hunters,
examining every part of their clothing; then she yelped, growled, and
clucked, but did not speak.

"What is your name?" said Philippe, looking at her fixedly, as if he
meant to mesmerize her.

"Genevieve," she said, laughing with a silly air.