Directly I had conceived the thought I felt sure that I was right. Here, in the gloaming, without shelter of any kind, alone and unarmed, I was to meet one of these fearful beasts out of the forest, whose very names were sufficient to fill my breast with terror. I don’t think I ever felt so frightened in my life as I did at that moment. Where should I run? What could I do? I looked across the fields on either side. They were sown with turnips, and stood upon a slope. If I attempted to plod my way through them I should only be impeding my progress, and making my presence more conspicuously apparent to the animal than it was now. Was I deceiving myself through fear? I strained my sight again to make sure what it was that advanced upon me. Oh! there was no doubt about it! I could distinguish the brute’s appearance perfectly as he shambled along the pathway. And he was coming faster. He had broken into a swinging trot, with his nose to the ground. He had scented me, there was no hope but in flight. All this, which takes so long to write, had taken but a second to flash through my brain, and in another I had turned, and was running back to St. Pucelle as fast as ever my legs could carry me. I dared not stop to look round, but in my terror I fancied I heard the breathing of the animal close behind me, and his steps gaining upon mine. After a quarter of a mile, perhaps, I had run myself out of breath; each step seemed as if it would choke me, and I believed that I was lost, and must succumb. ‘I shall never see St. Pucelle again,’ I thought sobbingly, as I flew along. ‘I shall be torn to pieces in the most horrible manner, and no one will even hear of my fate. I shall never know if Armand and Tessie are happy—or if——’ But here some great obstacle interposed itself between my blinded eyes and the pathway, and I fell with a loud scream of terror into the very arms of Monsieur de Nesselrode. ‘Mademoiselle Marsh!’ he exclaimed, in accents of the greatest surprise. ‘What is the matter? who has dared to frighten you?’ ‘The wolf! the wolf!’ I cried, struggling with him. ‘Let me go—save yourself—it is close upon us!’ ‘A wolf—and here! _Mais, mademoiselle, c’est impossible!_ it is not to be credited. Some one has been wicked enough to frighten you without cause.’ His words and manner somewhat reassured me, but I was still very much alarmed. ‘Indeed—indeed I am right. Look up the road for yourself! It is coming fast from the forest.’ Without relinquishing his hold of me, I saw him glance from right to left, over my shoulder, trying to distinguish the cause of my fear. ‘_Sacré_, Mademoiselle! you are correct. Something does advance this way.’ ‘I told you so!’ I exclaimed, in a fresh paroxysm of terror. ‘Oh! leave me, monsieur, leave me! Run for your life—it is impossible both of us can be saved.’