Françonnette is silent; but she feels and enjoys it all,--she is proud, and exults: she has the love of all--of all now. It is told her, a song has been made for her; and she hears it sung before every one--yes, every one knows she is the person meant. She thinks on Pascal, too, and becomes grave. "He has no equal," she mused. "How brave he is! every one holds him in esteem; all are on his side. How well he can paint love! doubtless they all love him. And what a song! what tender meaning!" Not a word has escaped her. "But, if he loves, why does he thus conceal himself?" She turned to his friend, and exclaimed: "It seems long since we saw him. I would fain tell him how beautiful we think his song. Where is he?" "Oh! he is obliged to stay at home," said Laurent, jealous and piqued. "Pascal has no more time, methinks, for song making. Poor man! his ruin is not far off; his father is infirm, and cannot leave his bed; he is in debt everywhere; the baker refuses to trust him." Françonnette became very pale. "He--so amiable--so good! alas! he is much to be pitied. Is he, then, indeed so wretched?" "Too true," said Laurent, affecting a compassionate air. "It is said he lives on alms." "You have lied," cried Thomas: "may your tongue be blistered! Pascal is unfortunate; and all has not gone well with him since he met that hurt in the arm, for Françonnette; but he is well again; and, if no envious person injures him, he will recover himself soon; for he has industry and courage." Whoever had looked narrowly would have seen a tear in the eye of Françonnette. The games begin: they sit in a circle; they play at _cache-couteau_. Françonnette is challenged by Laurent: he claims the kiss which she has forfeited. She flies like a bird from the fowler; he pursues; but, when he has nearly reached her, he falls, and has broken his arm. A sudden gloom succeeds to gaiety; terror takes possession of all. When suddenly a door opens, and an aged man, whose beard hangs to his girdle, appears. He comes like a spectre: they start away in alarm; the Sorcerer of the Black Wood stands before them. "Unthinking beings!" he exclaims, "I have descended from my rock to warn you. You all fix your thoughts upon this girl, Françonnette, who is accursed; for her father, while she was yet in her cradle, became a Huguenot, and sold her to the devil. Her mother died of grief; and the demon, who watches over that which is his, follows her everywhere in secret. He has punished Pascal and Laurent, who have sought her. Be warned; ill-fortune attends whoever would espouse her. The demon has alone a claim to her possession; and her husband would fall a victim." The sorcerer ended: sparks of fire surrounded him, and showed his wrinkled face more clearly: he turned four times round in a circle, and disappeared.