Not only the dejection of Mlle. de Varion made our ride a melancholy one,
despite the radiance of the autumn morning. Blaise, repentant of his
overindulgence, and still feeling the humiliation of the easy capture
made of him by four scurvy knaves, had taken refuge in one of those moods
of pious reflection which he attributed to maternal influence. Piqued at
this reticence, the maid, Jeannotte, maintained a sulky silence. The two
boys, devoted to their mistress, now faithfully reflected her sad and
uneasy demeanor.
"Look, mademoiselle!" said I, glad of having found objects toward which
to draw her attention, "yonder is the Chateau of Clochonne. Beyond that,
and to the right, are the mountains for which we are bound. It is there
that I shall introduce to you the Sieur de la Tournoire."
Mademoiselle looked at the distant towers and the mountains beyond
with an expression of dread. She gave a heavy sigh and shuddered in
her saddle.
"Nay, mademoiselle," I said; "you have nothing to fear there."
She turned pale, and answered, in a trembling voice:
"Alas, monsieur! Am I not about to put those mountains between myself and
my father?"
I thought of the joy that I should cause and the gratitude that I should
win, should I succeed in bringing her father safe to her on those
mountains, but I kept the thought to myself.
We skirted Clochonne by a wide detour, fording the Creuse at a secluded
place, and ascended the wooded hills in single file.
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