e wished
to see Dominique. They could have an understanding together; they might,
perhaps, find an expedient. And amid the confusion of her thoughts
she went down to the shore of the Morelle, which she crossed below the
sluice at a spot where there were huge stones. Her feet led her beneath
the first willow, in the corner of the meadow. As she stooped she saw a
pool of blood which made her turn pale. It was there the murder had been
committed. She followed the track of Dominique in the trodden grass; he
must have run, for she perceived a line of long footprints stretching
across the meadow. Then farther on she lost these traces. But in a
neighboring field she thought she found them again. The new trail
conducted her to the edge of the forest, where every indication was
effaced.

Francoise, nevertheless, plunged beneath the trees. It solaced her to
be alone. She sat down for an instant, but at the thought that time was
passing she leaped to her feet. How long had it been since she left the
mill? Five minutes?--half an hour? She had lost all conception of time.
Perhaps Dominique had concealed himself in a copse she knew of, where
they had one afternoon eaten filberts together. She hastened to the
copse, searched it. Only a blackbird flew away, uttering its soft, sad
note. Then she thought he might have taken refuge in a hollow of the
rocks, where it had sometimes been his custom to lie in wait for game,
but the hollow of the rocks was empty. What good was it to hunt for him?
She would never find him, but little by little the desire to discover
him took entire possession of her, and she hastened her steps. The idea
that he might have climbed a tree suddenly occurred to her. She advanced
with uplifted eyes, and that he might be made aware of her presence she
called him every fifteen or twenty steps. Cuckoos answered; a breath
of wind which passed through the branches made her believe that he
was there and was descending. Once she even imagined she saw him; she
stopped, almost choked, and wished to fly. What was she to say to him?
Had she come to take him back to be shot? Oh no, she would not tell him
what had happened. She would cry out to him to escape, not to remain in
the neighborhood. Then the thought that her father was waiting for her
gave her a sharp pain. She fell upon the turf, weeping, crying aloud:

"MON DIEU! MON DIEU! Why am I here?"

She was mad to have come. And as if seized with fear, she ran; she
sought