ur questions, so you
may spare yourself the trouble of putting them. I am late enough
already; I want help. If you will not guide me yourself, at least help
me to find some one else who will."

"Hold on," he cried suddenly. "Was it not you who passed in the meadow
while it was still day?"

"Yes, yes," said the girl, whom I had not hitherto recognized; "it was
monsieur; I told him to follow the cow."

"As for you, mademoiselle," said I, "you are a _farceuse_."

"And," added the man, "what the devil have you done to be still here?"

What the devil, indeed! But there I was. "The great thing," said I, "is
to make an end of it," and once more proposed that he should help me to
find a guide.

"_C'est que_," he said again, "_c'est que_--_il fait noir_."

"Very well," said I; "take one of your lanterns."

"No," he cried, drawing a thought backward, and again entrenching
himself behind one of his former phrases; "I will not cross the door."

I looked at him. I saw unaffected terror struggling on his face with
unaffected shame; he was smiling pitifully and wetting his lip with his
tongue, like a detected schoolboy. I drew a brief picture of my state,
and asked him what I was to do.

"I don't know," he said; "I will not cross the door."

Here was the Beast of Gevaudan, and no mistake.

"Sir," said I, with my most commanding manners, "you are a coward."

And with that I turned my back upon the family party, who hastened to
retire within their fortifications; and the famous door was closed
again, but not till I had overheard the sound of laughter. _Filia
barbara pater barbarior._ Let me say it in the plural: the Beasts of
Gevaudan.

The lanterns had somewhat dazzled me, and I ploughed distressfully among
stones and rubbish-heaps. All the other houses in the village were both
dark and silent; and though I knocked at here and there a door, my
knocking was unanswered. It was a bad business; I gave up Fouzilhac with
my curses. The rain had stopped, and the wind, which still kept rising,
began to dry my coat and trousers. "Very well," thought I, "water or no
water, I must camp." But the first thing was to return to Modestine. I
am pretty sure I was twenty minutes groping for my lady in the dark; and
if it had not been for the unkindly services of the bog, into which I
once more stumbled, I might have still been groping for her at the dawn.
My next business was to gain the shelter of a wood, for the wind was
cold as well