Savin continued to question him in order to study him the more closely. There seemed something suspicious in the man’s movements. Why was he prowling about this gloomy, forsaken spot, which bore an ill name among the peasants and which most people avoided? The trees were so dense that scarcely a bit of light penetrated into the forest, and it was still and lonely here on this chill autumn day. Fadard’s deceitful air was obvious to Barrau, who faced him with a stern countenance on which suspicion was plainly written. Before this look Fadard’s eyes fell.
“At what time did you set out from Dun?”
“At two o’clock,” replied Fadard tartly.
“You must be a good walker to have come so far in so short a time.”
As Barrau spoke he fancied he spied something concealed under the other’s clothing. Fadard appeared ill at ease.
“Another time,” continued Savin, “you had better take the main road. One sometimes has a bad encounter in such places as this.”
While speaking he put his hand familiarly on Fadard’s shoulder. The latter lost countenance, and without reflecting that he compromised himself in so doing, he turned and fled.
“Ah! it seems that Monsieur Fadard has something to conceal. And what cause has he to fear me, unless, as I suspect, he is a poacher?”
His first thought was to chase the runaway, but he abandoned the idea as useless. One might as well hunt for a needle in a haystack as for a man in this wilderness.
“Never mind. He will come back again some day, unless his cowardice gets the better of him.”