ould see
without being seen. They passed, as before, beyond the wood, armed, and
two of them bore at the end of their lances something very large and
dark, which I could not distinguish, but thought might be some wild
beast they had destroyed; afterwards, I flattered myself it might be the
bear, whose return I so greatly dreaded. Following the train was a
woman, naked, with her hair hanging down, uttering loud cries, and
tearing her face and breast. No one attempted to soothe her; but
occasionally one of the bearers of the black mass pointed it out to her;
she then became furious, threw herself on it, and tried to tear it with
her teeth and nails. I was quite overcome with horror and pity.

"That woman, my friends, was Canda, whom you have just seen. Canda,
usually so mild and gentle, was rendered frantic by the loss of her
child,--her first-born,--whom she believed was devoured by the bear.
Parabery, her husband, tried to console her, but was himself in great
sorrow. These bears, as I have since learnt, for there were two of them,
had come from a mountain, at the foot of which was Parabery's hut. They
had only this son, and Canda, according to the custom of the country,
tying it in a piece of bark, carried it on her back. One morning, after
having bathed him in the stream, which has its source near their abode,
she placed him on the turf a few moments, while she was employed in
some household duties. She soon heard his cries, mingled with a sort of
growl; she ran to the spot, and saw a frightful beast holding her child
in its mouth, and running off with it. It was then more than twenty
yards off; her cries brought her husband; she pointed to the horrible
animal, and darted after it, determined to save her child or perish. Her
husband only stopped to seize his javelin, and followed her, but did not
overtake her till fatigue and the heat of the day made her fall, almost
senseless, on the ground. Stopping for a moment to raise and encourage
her, he lost sight of the bear, and could not recover the track. All the
night,--that dreadful night of rain, when I was weeping and murmuring,
thinking myself the most unfortunate of women,--was Canda exposed,
without clothes, to that frightful storm, hopelessly seeking her only
child, and not even feeling that it did rain. Parabery, not less
afflicted, but more composed, went to relate his misfortune to his
neighbours, who, arming themselves, set out, with Parabery at their
head, fol