Germain thought a minute, then he asked whether the farmer of Ormeaux had not been at Fourche.
“Yes,” they answered, “he passed on horseback a few seconds after the girl.”
“Was he chasing her?”
“Oh, so you understand?” answered the village publican, with a laugh. “Certain it is that he is the devil of a fellow for running after girls. But I don’t believe that he caught her; though, after all, if he had seen her—”
“That is enough, thank you!” And he flew rather than ran to Leonard’s stable. Throwing the saddle on the gray’s back, he leaped upon it, and set off at full gallop toward the wood of Chanteloube.
His heart beat hard with fear and anger; the sweat poured down his forehead; he spurred the mare till the blood came, though the gray needed no pressing when she felt herself on the road to her stable.
XIII
The Old Woman
Germain came soon to the spot where he had passed the night on the border of the pool. The fire was smoking still. An old woman was gathering the remnants of the wood little Marie had piled there. Germain stopped to question her. She was deaf and mistook his inquiries.