then retraced her steps, for she thought she heard some one call. It was
Suzanne, who had seen a man coming from the frontier on horseback and
who had vainly tried to make herself heard. He was no doubt bringing
news....

Panting and exhausted, they went back again. But there was no one at the
Old Mill, no one but Mme. Morestal and Catherine, who were praying on
the terrace. All the servants had gone off, without plan or purpose, in
search of information; and the man on the horse, a peasant, had passed
without looking up.

Then they dropped on a bench near the balustrade and sat stupefied, worn
out by the effort which they had just made; and horrible minutes
followed. Each of the three women thought of her own special sorrow and
each, besides, suffered the anguish of the unknown disaster that
threatened all three of them. They dared not look at one another. They
dared not speak, although the silence tortured them. The least sound
represented a source of foolish hope or horrid dread; and, with their
eyes fixed on the line of dark woods, they waited.

Suddenly, they rose with a start. Catherine, who was keeping a look-out
on the steps of the staircase, had sprung to her feet:

"There's Henriot!" she cried.

"Henriot?" echoed Mme. Morestal.

"Yes, the gardener's boy: I can make him out from here."

"Where? We haven't seen him come."

"He must have taken a short cut.... He is coming up the stairs....
Quick, Henriot!... Hurry!... Do you know anything?"

She pulled open the gate and a lad of fifteen or so, his face bathed in
perspiration, appeared.

He at once said:

"There's a deserter been killed ... a German deserter."

And the three women were forthwith overcome with a great sense of peace.
After the rush of events that had come upon them like a tempest, it
seemed to them as though nothing could touch them now. The phantom of
death vanished from their minds. A man had been shot, no doubt, but that
didn't matter, because the man was not one of theirs. And the gladness
that revived them was such that they could almost have laughed.

And, once again, Catherine appeared. She announced that Victor was
returning. And the three women saw a man spurring his horse at the mouth
of the pass, at the imminent risk of breaking his neck on the steep
slope of the road. It was soon apparent, when the man reached the
Etang-des-Moines, that some one was following him with swift strides;
and Marthe uttered cries of joy at rec