"Where is he?" were his first words as he sought her lips in the dark.
"He has gone," she whispered, when her lips were free.
"Where?"
"Eh ben, he went away with the Père Detour to the village—madame is asleep."
"Ah, good!" said he.
"Mon Dieu! but you are warm," she whispered, pressing her cheek against his own.
"I ran," he drawled, "the patron kept me late. There is plenty of work there now."
He put his arm around her and the two walked deeper into the wood, he holding her heavy moist hand idly in his own. Presently the moon came out, sailing high among the scudding clouds, flashing bright in the clear intervals. A white mist had settled low over the pasture below them, and the cattle were beginning to move restlessly under the chill blanket, changing again and again their places for the night. A bull bellowed with all his might from beyond the mysterious distance. He had evidently scented them, for presently he emerged from the mist and moved along the edge of the woods, protected by a deep ditch. He stopped when he was abreast of them to bellow again, then kept slowly on past them. They had seated themselves in the moonlight among the stumps of some freshly cut poplars.
"Dis donc, what is the matter?" he asked at length, noticing her unusual silence, for she generally prattled on, telling him of the uneventful hours of her days.
"Nothing," she returned evasively.