“You haven’t come for us?” I asked.
He was about to reply when we were joined by my sister Louise, who had been told of his arrival. She greeted him in a friendly way and asked what news he brought from town. He seemed in no haste to reply.
“The news is,” he said at last, “that Madame wants you.”
“Madame?” asked Louise.
“Very well,” I observed, “and how soon?”
“To be sure it is too late for you to go down to-night. The beast is tired and it is already dark. To-morrow morning, very early.”
Why such haste? We should hardly have time for our packing. I was about to protest, but the farmer slipped away—he must put out the horse, and get the cart under cover. During his absence I protested against so hurried a departure. In fact the prospect of quitting this place filled me with sadness, and I again lived through the sense of desolation which had come over me in the wood, strewn with the dead leaves. Louise paid no attention and I saw that she was crying. Was she so sorry to go?
“I am afraid,” she said to me.
Afraid of what? Grandfather, being informed of our recall, showed as little enthusiasm as I.
“We weren’t so badly off here,” he said. “We could do as we chose.”