“Something bad always follows the seeing of the werwolf. My grandmère says it is a curse on the neighborhood because many of our people neglect the church. Think!”
“Do tell me,” begged the American girl.
“Our best cow died,” cried Henriette. “Our—ve-ry—best—cow! It is an affliction, Mademoiselle.”
Ruth could well understand that to be so, for cows, since the German invasion, have been very scarce in this part of France. Henriette was quite confident that the appearance of the “werwolf” had foretold the demise of “the poor Lally.” The American girl saw that it was quite useless to seek to change her little friend’s opinion on that score.
“Of course, the thing we saw in the road could not have been the countess’ dog?” she ventured.
But Henriette would have none of that. “Why, Bubu’s blanket is black,” she cried. “And you know the werwolf is all of a white color—and so hu-u-uge!”
She would have nothing of the idea that Bubu was the basis of the countryside superstition. But the French girl had a second exciting bit of news.
“Think you!” she cried, “what I saw coming over to town this ve-ry day, Mademoiselle Ruth.”
“Another mystery?”
“Quite so. But yes. You would never, as you say, ‘guess.’ I passed old Bessie, Madame la Countess’ serving woman, riding fast, fast in a motor-car. Is it not a wonder?”