"If I had kept her with me," he said, "if I had not banished my Adèle’s daughter from my arms, I should not now be deprived of her caresses."
Alfred, whose temperament made it easier for him to overcome grief, did his utmost to distract his father and Edouard in some measure; when they lost all hope, he strove earnestly to renew it, saying:
"Why should we despair? We may find Isaure just when we least expect it; she may escape from the place where she is undoubtedly detained against her will; then she will hasten back to her cottage near the White House. Who knows that she has not returned there now?"
That hope led them back to the little valley. After more than six weeks employed in scouring the mountains, they returned to Isaure’s home; but they found the same solitude as before. She whom they sought had not reappeared in the neighborhood of Chadrat, and even Alfred himself seemed to lose all hope.
Before going to the White House to repair the fatigue of their toilsome journey, the baron and the young men went to the cottage of the peasant with whom they had left Vaillant. They were afraid that they might not find Isaure’s faithful defender alive; but their fears speedily disappeared: they were a hundred yards from the Auvergnat’s house when a noble dog came out and ran toward them with every manifestation of the liveliest joy. It was Vaillant, his wounds entirely healed; he fawned upon the baron, then ran to Alfred and Edouard and licked their hands as if to thank them for assisting him and dressing his wounds when he lay dying in the yard of the cottage. The three travellers, overjoyed to find the gallant creature, who had nearly died for his mistress, well and strong again, returned his caresses. But suddenly, ceasing his demonstrations of joy, Vaillant began to walk about them, as if in search of something; he looked at the house, then took his stand in front of the travellers again.
"Alas! my poor old Vaillant!" said Edouard, "are you looking for someone else? Are you asking us if we have brought back your mistress? No! she is lost to us—perhaps forever!"
The dog looked closely at Edouard; he seemed to understand his grief; he made no sound, but contented himself with walking silently beside him to the house of the peasants, whom they rewarded handsomely for the care they had taken of Vaillant. Then they returned to the White House, where they proposed to remain until they had decided what further steps to take.
The winter had come; it had scattered afar the dead leaves from the trees, it had stripped the shrubs and withered the grass. The winter is sharper and more severe in mountainous regions; nature there assumes a more melancholy and imposing aspect. Snow had fallen in abundance in the little valley; the roof of the White House was covered with it, and the garden displayed the combination of dried and blackened branches and the brilliant glare of the snow. However, despite the inclemency of the season, despite the depressing aspect of the country, the Baron de Marcey, his son and Edouard remained in Auvergne, living in the White House, going forth each day to visit some point in the neighborhood. A secret hope detained them in the place where Isaure had lived; they could not make up their minds to leave it.
Vaillant always accompanied the gentlemen who were seeking his mistress; it seemed that the dog was desirous to dig through the snow to the ground, hoping to find there Isaure’s footprints. They saw him stop more than once and scratch violently; then look uneasily to the right and the left; but the blanket of snow that covered the ground seemed to perplex him and to arrest his advance.
As the baron and the young men often went in different directions, Vaillant was sometimes with one and sometimes with another. Every day they acquired fresh proofs of his intelligence; every day he was pleased and joyous when they left the White House to pursue their search, but he always returned silent and sad.