e forest. He warns his men to
be always on the alert. Every now and then things happen about here
that bode no good. The other day I was walking along the wall, near
the source of that little sandy rivulet which comes from the forest
and enters the park through a culvert about five hundred feet from
here,--you know it, madame? it is called Silver Spring, because of the
star-flowers Bouret is said to have sown there. Well, I overheard the
talk of two women who were washing their linen just where the path to
Conches crosses the brook; they did not know I was there. Our house can
be seen from that point, and one old woman pointed it out to the other,
saying: 'See what a lot of money they have spent on the man who turned
out Courtecuisse.' 'They ought to pay a man well when they set him to
harass poor people as that man does,' answered the other. 'Well, it
won't be for long,' said the first one; 'the thing is going to end soon.
We have a right to our wood. The late Madame allowed us to take it.
That's thirty years ago, so the right is ours.' 'We'll see what we shall
see next winter,' replied the second. 'My man has sworn the great oath
that all the gendarmerie in the world sha'n't keep us from getting our
wood; he says he means to get it himself, and if the worst happens so
much the worse for them!' 'Good God!' cried the other; 'we can't die
of cold, and we must bake bread to eat! They want for nothing, _those
others_! the wife of that scoundrel of a Michaud will be taken care of,
I warrant you!' And then, Madame, they said such horrible things of me
and of you and of Monsieur le comte; and they finally declared that the
farms would all be burned, and then the chateau."

"Bah!" said Emile, "idle talk! They have been robbing the general,
and they will not be allowed to rob him any longer. These people are
furious, that's the whole of it. You must remember that the law and the
government are always strongest everywhere, even in Burgundy. In case
of an outbreak the general could bring a regiment of cavalry here, if
necessary."

The abbe made a sign to Madame Michaud from behind the countess, telling
her to say no more about her fears, which were doubtless the effect
of that second sight which true passion bestows. The soul, dwelling
exclusively on one only being, grasps in the end the moral elements that
surround it, and sees in them the makings of the future. The woman who
loves feels the same presentiments that later illumi