"Non, non, non,—fie, Monsieur Job,—no girl; dey are—a—a—a—"
"Ladies, Count, you mean," answered Allthings.
"Oui, oui, oui—de ladees—pas la-bas, pas la-bas! They must be—a—a—noyées—what you call when you fall dans l'eau and mourez—eh?"
"Drown," returned Allthings.
"Oui, Monsieur Allting—drown."
"Sure enough," ejaculated Jobson, looking down through the branches, "the girls are not there! Where can they be?"
"O ciel!—noyées!—noyées!" shouted the Count, plunging down the bank. "Mon Dieu!—ces demoiselles dans les eaux!—au secours!—au secours!"
The last we saw of the excellent Count he was going down the steep bank on the sliding principle, shouting with all his might, and presenting a rare sight of "ground and lofty tumbling" quite edifying to behold.
We now all looked. True, the deep hollow beneath was quite forsaken. No ladies were there to be seen. Marvelling somewhat at the sudden disappearance, we all descended from our respective perches by the ladders formed of the branches, roots and tough grape vines, and set foot upon the hollow where our dinner had transpired. Looking around at the banks by which we were surrounded, we at length saw the girls emerge from a twisted ravine at the lower part of the hollow scarcely discernible from the foliage with which it was roofed, and found from the wreaths of moss, ground pine and wild flowers in their hair and around their persons, that they had been also making explorations, although in a lower region than ours.
The Count now rejoined the party, after having peered most anxiously and at various points into the lower basin to find the drowned ones, all clustered together upon the short velvet sward near the streamlet, and Paddock was called upon for one of his Indian legends.