It was as if a thunderbolt had passed through his body.
He looked more attentively. Yes, there was a light, a strange, fantastic light, dancing amongst the trees. His feverish brain caused him to lose all power of reasoning.
"What is this?" he said to himself. He felt his heart beating heavily against the walls of its prison as if trying to escape. His legs seemed to give way under him. A big lump stuck in his throat.
"It is only an ignis fatuus," he said to himself. "No, it cannot be, it does not burn with a bluish light. Why this terror, why this fear; it must be the feu bellanger."
The light changed. It was approaching.
A sense of horripilation stole over him. A cold perspiration bathed him.
The light changed again. It really receded this time, but to Frank's agitated mind, it was simply one of its tactics to induce him to come nearer.
He suddenly bethought himself of the stream. His terror reached its climax. "Ah! there it was, waiting for him to pass that way, and then with a shout of triumph, it would plunge him in."
He remembered old Pierre's words: "Wait till he gets caught." How he wished he had not mocked him so. Perhaps this feu bellanger was preparing to revenge itself.