The Bagpipers

by George Sand

"Don't fret about that," replied Thérence. "Whatever happens is God's will, and you will never be blamed by us. I know you now, Brulette; I know that you deserve respect. Come, dry your eyes and go to sleep. I hope I shall bring you back good news, and I am certain my brother will be consoled and half-cured if you will let me tell him how sorry you are for his wound."

"I think," said Brulette, "that he will think more of your regard, for there is no woman in the world he could ever love like his own good and brave sister. And, Thérence, that is why I am sorry I made you ask him for that token, and if he had a fancy to have it back, I dare say you would give it to him."

"That's right, Brulette," cried Thérence; "I kiss you for those words. Sleep in peace, I am off."

"I shall not sleep," replied Brulette; "I shall pray to God to help you till I see you safe back again."

I heard Thérence softly leave the lodge, and a minute later I also went out. I could not bring my conscience to allow a beautiful girl to expose herself all alone to the dangers of the night; nor could I, out of fear for myself, withhold what power I had to give her assistance. The people she was going to seek did not seem to me such gentle and good Christians as she made them out to be, and besides, perhaps they were not the only ones in the wood that night. Our dance had attracted beggars, and we know that folks who ask charity don't always show it to others when occasion offers. Moreover,—and I am sure I don't know why,—the red and shining face of the Carmelite friar, who had paid such attention to my wine, kept coming into my head. He struck me as not lowering his eyes very much when he passed near the girls, and I hadn't noticed what became of him in the general hullaballoo.

But Thérence had declared to Brulette that she did not want my company in her search for the muleteers; so, not wishing to displease her, I determined not to let her see me, and to follow her only within hearing, in case she had occasion to cry for help. Accordingly, I let her get about a minute in advance, not more, though I would have liked to stay and tranquillize Brulette by telling her my plan. I was, however, afraid to delay and so lose the trail of the woodland beauty.

I saw her cross the open and enter a copse which sloped toward the bed of a brook, not far from the lodges. I entered after her, by the same path, and as there were numerous turns, I soon lost sight of her; but I heard the sound of her light step, which every now and then broke a dead branch, or rolled a pebble. She seemed to be walking rapidly, and I did the same, to prevent her getting too far in advance of me. Two or three times I thought I was so near her that I slackened my pace in order that she might not see me. We came thus to one of the roads which lead through the woods; but the shadow of the tall trees was so dense that I, looking from right to left, was unable to see anything that indicated which way she had gone.

I listened, ear to earth, and I heard in the path, which continued across the road, the same breaking of branches which had already guided me. I hastened forward till I reached another road which led down to the brook; there I began to fear I had lost trace of her, for the brook was wide and the bank muddy, and I saw no sign of footsteps. There is nothing so deceiving as the paths of a wood. In some places the trees stand so that one fancies there must be a path; or perhaps wild animals going to water have beaten out a track; and then all of a sudden we find ourselves tangled in underbrush, or sinking in such a bog that it is useless trying to go further.

However, I persisted, because I still heard the noise before me, and it was so distinct that finally I began to run, tearing my clothes in the brambles, and plunging deeper and deeper into the thicket, when suddenly a savage growl let me know that the creature I was pursuing was a boar, which was beginning to be annoyed by my company, and wished to show that he had had enough of it. Having no weapon but a stick, and not knowing how to deal with that kind of beast, I turned round and retraced my steps, rather uneasy lest the boar should take it into his head to accompany me. Fortunately, he did not think of it, and I returned as far as the first road, where by mere chance I took the direction which led to the entrance of the woods of Chambérat, where we had held the fête.

Though baffled, I did not choose to renounce my search; for Thérence might meet some wild beast, as I had, and I didn't believe she knew any language that that kind of enemy would listen to. I already knew enough of the forest not to get lost for any length of time, and I soon reached the place where we had danced. It took me a few moments to be certain that it was the same open, for I expected to find my arbor, with the utensils which I had not had time to carry away; but the place where I left it was as smooth as if it had never been there. Nevertheless, searching carefully, I found the holes where I had driven in the stakes, and the place where the feet of the dancers had worn off the turf.