rtial
family would take the trouble of rowing over to fetch her to the isle.

Heated and breathless, her eyes sparkling with eager excitement, she
stopped opposite that point of the isle which, taking a sudden bend in
this direction, was the nearest approach from the shore. Through the
leafless branches of the willows and poplars, La Louve could see the
roof of the very house where Martial perhaps lay dying.

At this distracting idea La Louve uttered a wild cry of desperation,
then, snatching off her shawl and cap, she slipped out of her gown; and,
undressed as she was to her petticoat, she threw herself intrepidly into
the river, waded until she got out of her depth, and then, fearlessly
striking out, she swam determinedly towards the isle, affording a
strange spectacle of wild and desperate energy. At each fresh impulsion
of the arms the long, thick hair of La Louve, unfastened by the violent
exercise she was using, shook and waved about her head like the rich
mane of a war-horse. But for the fixedness of her gaze, constantly
riveted on the house which contained Martial, and the contraction of her
features, drawn together by almost the convulsive agonies of fear and
dreadful anticipation of arriving too late, the poacher's mistress might
have been supposed to have been merely enjoying the cool refreshment of
the water for her own sport and diversion, so boldly and freely did she
swim.

Tattooed in remembrance of her lover, her white but sinewy arms, strong
as those of a man, divided the waters with a stroke which sent the
sparkling element in rushing streams of liquid pearls over her broad
shoulders and strong, expansive chest, resembling a block of
half-submerged marble. All at once, from the other side of the isle,
rose a cry of distress,--a cry of agony at once fearful and despairing.
La Louve started, and suddenly stopped in her rapid course; then
supporting herself with one hand, with the other she pushed back her
thick, dripping hair, and listened. Again the cry was repeated, but
more feebly, supplicatory, convulsive, and expiring; and then the most
profound silence reigned around.

"'Tis Martial--'tis his cry! He calls me to his aid!" exclaimed La
Louve, swimming with renewed vigour, for, in her excited state of mind,
the voice which had rent the air, and sent a pang through her whole
frame, seemed to her to be that of her lover.

The count and the doctor, whom La Louve had rushed so quickly by, were
quit