g to keep up the fire and watching the child, whom
Germain seemed to have forgotten. Germain, meanwhile, was not asleep; he
was not reflecting on his lot, nor was he devising any bold stroke, or
any plan of seduction. He was suffering keenly, he had a mountain of
_ennui_ upon his heart. He wished he were dead. Everything seemed to be
turning out badly for him, and if he could have wept, he would not have
done it by halves. But there was a little anger with himself mingled
with his suffering, and he was suffocating, unable and unwilling to
complain.

When day broke and the noise in the fields announced the fact to
Germain, he took his hands from his face and rose. He saw that little
Marie had not slept, either, but he could think of nothing to say to her
to show his solicitude. He was utterly discouraged. He concealed Grise's
saddle in the bushes once more, took his bag over his shoulder, and
said, taking his son's hand:

"Now, Marie, we'll try and finish our journey. Do you want me to take
you to Ormeaux?"

"We will go out of the woods together," she replied, "and when we know
where we are, we will go our separate ways."

Germain said nothing. He was wounded because the girl did not ask him to
escort her to Ormeaux, and he did not realize that he had made the offer
in a tone that seemed to challenge a refusal.

A wood-cutter, whom they met within two hundred paces, pointed out the
path they must take, and told them that after crossing the great meadow
they had only to go, in the one case straight ahead, in the other to
the left, to reach their respective destinations, which, by the way,
were so near together that the houses at Fourche could be distinctly
seen from the farm of Ormeaux, and _vice versa_.

When they had thanked the wood-cutter and passed on, he called them back
to ask if they had not lost a horse.

"I found a fine gray mare in my yard," he said, "where she may have gone
to escape the wolf. My dogs barked all night long, and at daybreak I saw
the beast under my shed; she's there still. Go and look at her, and if
you know her, take her."

Germain, having described Grise and being convinced that it was really
she, started back to get his saddle. Little Marie thereupon offered to
take the child to Ormeaux, where he could come and get him after he had
paid his respects at Fourche.

"He isn't very clean after the night we have passed," she said. "I will
brush his clothes, wash his pretty little face,