Savin, on the other hand, soothed by the quiet atmosphere of the woods, flattered himself that upon reflection Catherine would understand the conciliatory spirit which had prompted him to accept the wedding invitation. The wedding would be a diversion for Catherine, and he made up his mind not to dictate to or upbraid her whatever she might do; even if she danced with Bruno or Firmin, both of whom he disapproved. He resolved to bring about a reconciliation if possible, and he thought this little concession on his part would accomplish it. Knowing his wife’s love for gayety, he felt confident that a day’s unrestrained enjoyment would dispel the cloud and restore her to good-nature once more. And the brave-hearted fellow smiled to himself as he thought of his home again blessed with peace and happiness. On the narrow path which plunged down a steep declivity into a ravine he encountered Fadard, the friend of Andoche and the cousin of Mademoiselle Faillot. The man was proceeding, with the assistance of his cane, like a sober-minded citizen. “Ah! it is Monsieur Fadard,” said Barrau; “and where the devil did you come from?” “From Dun les Places. I have cut across country, as you see.” The gamekeeper examined Fadard’s shoes and trousers. They bore no traces of mud, and there were swamps in the region of which he had spoken. “And you are going to see Mademoiselle Faillot?” asked Barrau. “Just so,” returned Fadard. Savin continued to question him in order to study him the more closely. There seemed something suspicious in the man’s movements. Why was he prowling about this gloomy, forsaken spot, which bore an ill name among the peasants and which most people avoided? The trees were so dense that scarcely a bit of light penetrated into the forest, and it was still and lonely here on this chill autumn day. Fadard’s deceitful air was obvious to Barrau, who faced him with a stern countenance on which suspicion was plainly written. Before this look Fadard’s eyes fell. “At what time did you set out from Dun?” “At two o’clock,” replied Fadard tartly. “You must be a good walker to have come so far in so short a time.” As Barrau spoke he fancied he spied something concealed under the other’s clothing. Fadard appeared ill at ease. “Another time,” continued Savin, “you had better take the main road. One sometimes has a bad encounter in such places as this.” While speaking he put his hand familiarly on Fadard’s shoulder. The latter lost countenance, and without reflecting that he compromised himself in so doing, he turned and fled. “Ah! it seems that Monsieur Fadard has something to conceal. And what cause has he to fear me, unless, as I suspect, he is a poacher?” His first thought was to chase the runaway, but he abandoned the idea as useless. One might as well hunt for a needle in a haystack as for a man in this wilderness. “Never mind. He will come back again some day, unless his cowardice gets the better of him.”