“My kodak!” said Ethel.
“I’m sitting on it!” said Suzanne; “I can hear it crack!”
All their gaiety had come back. Ethel felt the need of shaking off the mysterious influence that had been depressing her since they set out.
“Really, I’m too simple,” she said; “I shall wind up by believing in their sorceress. Poor old woman, who will sell us four-leaved clover against thunder, coral horns against the evil eye, fetishes and prayer-mills and garlic pommade.”
“How happy Poufaille would be here!” thought Suzanne.
“What a journey!” Ethel continued. “What roads! I am all shaken up! At least they ought to build a narrow-gage railroad in such a country!” she said to Will, who had come up with her.
“It wouldn’t pay,” said Will. “But if I owned these mountains I’d take the ore out of them.”
“Mademoiselle would be very good if she would ask for me a toad’s-hair chaplet,” Suzanne said, in a low tone.
“Ask? From whom? From my brother?”
“No! From the old sorceress!”