I jumped up in some suppressed excitement. "I recall my words," I said. "You have a chance, after all, down there in Bordeaux. now I see that it is a thief that fears a spy."

And

I pointed at the wench. She was dressed, ridiculously, inappropriately, in a silk gown of a past fashion, but rich in quality, and decorated with a collar of point-lace. Out of this her dirty countenance, thatched with a villainous mop of hair, stuck grotesquely; and the skirt of the dress had been roughly caught up to disencumber her bare feet.

The man stamped on the ground.

"I do not fear you!" he cried furiously, “and I am no thief!

I laughed derisively.

"But it is true!" he shouted. "A young lady we met in the woods of Coutras would exchange it for Nannette's jupon; and why the devil should we deny her?"

My heart gave a sudden swerve.

"What was she like, this lady?” I said. The fellow glanced sulkily askance at me. "Does not the spy know?" he said.

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Perhaps he does. Say this demoiselle was slender and of a reasonable height; that she had brown hair, and grey eyes under dark brows; that her face was of a cold, transparent whiteness; that she spoke with a certain soft huskiness in her voice."

He cried under his breath, with a note of fright, "The devil is in this man!"

I laughed and took off my hat and made the two a bow.

"To your quick advancement in Bordeaux!" I said.

He stared a moment, seemed to hesitate; then, roughly summoning the girl to follow him, strode off through the wood. The moment they were out of sight I sat down again to ponder.

Was it true, then, that these peasants had met Carinne that they had helped her to a disguise— for what purpose? She must have been in the woods whilst I was there-accursed destiny that kept us apart! At least I must return to them at once and seek her.

I broke into a queer embarrassed fit of laughter. What self-ordained mission was this? What was my interest in the girl, or how would she not resent, perhaps, the insolence of my interference ? She had no claim upon my protection or I upon her favour.

Very well and very well—but I was going to seek her, nevertheless. Such queer little threads of irresponsible adventure pulled me in these days.

But, at first for my hunger. It was a great voice in an empty house. It would not be refused or put off with a feast of sentiment. Eat I must, if it was only of a hunk of sour pease-bread.

Suddenly I thought of that bestial apparition at

G

the wood-skirt. There had been a liquid "yong" in its snarl, as if it could not forbear the action of gluttonous jaws even while they were setting at an intruder. Perhaps the remains of a goat!

I started running towards the point at which, I believed, I had entered amongst the trees. Very shortly I emerged into the open, and saw the cornfield shimmering violet before me in the dawn. I beat up and down amongst the standing grain, and all in a moment came upon that I sought. A goat it might have been (or a scapegoat bearing the sins of the people) for anything human in its appearance. Yet it was the body of a man-of a great man, too, in his day, I believe that lay before me in the midst of a trampled crib of stalks, but featureless, half-devoured—a seething abomination.

Now, in the placid aftermath of my fortunes, I can very easily shudder over that thought of the straits to which hunger will drive one. Then, I only know that through all the abhorrence with which I regarded the hideous remains, the sight of an untouched satchel flung upon the ground beside them thrilled me with hope. I stooped, had it in my hands, unbuckled it with shaking fingers. It was full to choking of bread and raisins and a little flask of cognac. Probably the poor wretch had not thought it worth his while to satisfy the needs of an existence he was about to put an end to. For the horn handle of a knife, the blade of which was hidden in the decaying heart of the creature, stood out slackly from a hoop of ribs.

I withdrew into the wood, and without a scruple attacked the provisions. It was a dry and withered feast; yet I had been fastidiously critical of many a service aux repas at Versailles that gave me not a tithe of the pleasure I now enjoyed. And at the last I drank to the white Andromeda whose Perseus I then and there proclaimed myself to be.

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CHAPTER VI.

THE HERD OF SWINE.

I WAS back in the woods of Pierrettes, my precious satchel, still but two-thirds emptied, slung about my shoulders, my clothes wrinkled dry from their sopping in the waters of the Dordogne. All that day of my finding of the food had I lain concealed in the woods; but, with the fall of dusk, I made my way, by a long détour, to the river-bank, and crossed the stream swimming and in safety. And now was I again la Grand' Bête, seeking to trace in the scent of trodden violets the path by which my phantom Carinne had vanished.

That night I passed, warned by experience, in the branches of a tree. With dawn of the following day I was on foot again, striking northwards by the sun, and stretching over the encumbered miles with all the speed I could accomplish. I had a thought in my breast, and good fortune enabled me to put it to the proof. For, somewhere about four o'clock as I judged, I emerged into a woodland track that I felt convinced was the one made detestable by a