Where he pointed, the shrubs, which all along grew wildly and untrimmed, presented a still more tangled mass of underwood, so thickly matted together that Mme. Léon had to thrust the branches aside with her strong young hands, pushing them to right and left, as she plunged into their midst, Jean clipping down after her. A soft rush of sound, which for some time had been in their ears, resolved itself now into the cool flow of running water, and the ground, still densely wooded, fell precipitously, evidently forming the high bank of the stream. Nathalie was active and light in movement; she scarcely hesitated, though often forced to swing by the help of flexible branches, or to scramble, as best she could, down sandy slopes. At the foot of the bank ran a narrow grassy strip, fringed with a thick growth of water-plants and broad burdock leave beyond which raced a broad river, broken here and there by pebbly shoals, but in other places flowing deep and strong. The first breath of autumn was carried in the air; it was all fresh, vigorous, and a little keen, but the beauty passed unnoticed by Mme. Léon. She stood still, and, shading her eyes with her hand, looked eagerly on either side. Jean clambered to a little height. “Do you see him?” she called, anxiously.
“No, madame. But madame will recollect that monsieur was going that way”—pointing to his right—“to fish. Possibly he may be there.”
She thought for a moment.
“I will take that direction, and do you ran towards the bridge. Only make haste, and if you find him, do not leave him again, but bring him back at once; and call as you go.”
“If it were any one but Monsieur Raoul, now,” the boy said to himself as he went off, “she would not have ventured to give an order. Mademoiselle Claire stared finely when she found herself told to take care of the carriage. It was good! Madame Léon is twenty times better than Mademoiselle Claire, who speaks as if one were a pig; but, then, Mademoiselle Claire is one of the old Beaudrillarts, and has the right, while Madame Léon is bourgeoise. There’s the difference. Nobody would mind if she did speak. Monsieur Raoul! Hi, Monsieur Raoul!”
Nathalie, meanwhile, was walking swiftly in the opposite direction, her eyes devouring the bank and the unfeeling river, which gave her at all times an unconquerable dread. The ground was rough and broken, and she often stumbled where the long grass hid cracks and dips. A small out-jutting promontory for some time hid a bend of the river from her sight. It was covered with thin straggling bushes, which had the appearance of hurrying helter-skelter to dip their green branches in the water. It was necessary to push her way through them, and her dress would have been torn had not an unconscious instinct led her, even at this absorbed moment, to wrap it carefully round her, and avoid the jagged wood-splinters. When she had crossed these obstacles, she called to a fisherman at work some couple of hundred feet away. “Léon, Léon!” she cried, breathlessly.
He turned, nodded, and began deliberately to reel his line. Before he had finished his wife was by his side.
“Léon—Raoul! Have you seen Raoul!”
“I? No. Why should I have seen him?”
“Because he got out of the carriage and made his way down to the river—to the river—alone! Oh, Léon!”