“What a wretched existence!” he muttered as he disappeared under the frost-touched trees.
Left alone, Catherine raised her arms toward heaven with an expression of utter despair. “Mon Dieu! how dearly would I pay for freedom,” she cried.
Savin, on the other hand, soothed by the quiet atmosphere of the woods, flattered himself that upon reflection Catherine would understand the conciliatory spirit which had prompted him to accept the wedding invitation. The wedding would be a diversion for Catherine, and he made up his mind not to dictate to or upbraid her whatever she might do; even if she danced with Bruno or Firmin, both of whom he disapproved. He resolved to bring about a reconciliation if possible, and he thought this little concession on his part would accomplish it. Knowing his wife’s love for gayety, he felt confident that a day’s unrestrained enjoyment would dispel the cloud and restore her to good-nature once more. And the brave-hearted fellow smiled to himself as he thought of his home again blessed with peace and happiness.
On the narrow path which plunged down a steep declivity into a ravine he encountered Fadard, the friend of Andoche and the cousin of Mademoiselle Faillot.
The man was proceeding, with the assistance of his cane, like a sober-minded citizen.
“Ah! it is Monsieur Fadard,” said Barrau; “and where the devil did you come from?”
“From Dun les Places. I have cut across country, as you see.”
The gamekeeper examined Fadard’s shoes and trousers. They bore no traces of mud, and there were swamps in the region of which he had spoken.
“And you are going to see Mademoiselle Faillot?” asked Barrau.
“Just so,” returned Fadard.