With this possibility of adventure, Nick had to be content. Madame Longville saw Jo pass and remarked to the Captain who was eating the pancakes his wife was making: "There goes Mam’selle, and so early, too; somehow she doesn’t look as if she had taken up with Pierre." "How does she look?" asked the Captain with his mouth full. "Sort of easy and cheerful." "Fool," muttered Longville and reached for more cakes. "Is she afoot?" "No. She’s in the little cart and it’s empty." "She’s going to fetch Gavot, bag and baggage." Longville felt that he had solved the problem. "It takes a woman like Mam’selle to clinch a good bargain." Then Longville laughed and sputtered. "It was a good turn I did for your rascal brother when I turned him on to Mam’selle," he continued. "I took the matter in my own hands." "I’m glad you did," Marcel returned, "but all the same Jo Morey doesn’t look as if she had taken up with Pierre." The repetition irritated Longville and again he muttered "fool!" then added "damn fool" and let the matter rest. But Jo was out of sight by that time and seemed to have the empty world to herself. And what a world it was. The wind of the past few hours had swept the sky clear of clouds and for that time of year the day was warm. Presently Jo found herself singing: "A la Claire Fontaine" and was surprised that it caused her no heartache. So grateful was she for this, that she dismounted and stood under one of the tall crosses by the wayside and prayed in her silent, wordless fashion, recalling the years that were gone as another might count the beads of a rosary. Her state of mind was most perplexing and surprising, but it was wonderful. What did it matter, the cause that resulted in this sense of freedom, and, at the same time, of being used and controlled? Jo felt herself a part of a great and powerful plan. Surely there is no truer freedom than that. At noon the roofs of St. Michael’s were in plain sight over the pastures; by the road was a delectable pine grove with an opening broad enough to drive in, so in Jo drove. She unhitched Molly and fed her, then taking her own food to a log lying in the warm sunlight, she laid out her feast and seated herself upon the fragrant pine needles. She was healthfully hungry and thirsty and, for a few minutes, ate and drank without heeding anything but her needs. Then a stirring in the bushes attracted her attention. She raised her eyes and noted that the branches of a crimson sumach near the road were moving restlessly. Thinking some hungry but shy creature of the woods was hiding, Jo kept perfectly still, holding a morsel of food out enticingly. The branches ceased trembling, there was no sound, but suddenly Jo realized that she was looking straight into eyes that were holding hers by a strange magnetism. "What do you want?" she asked. "Who are you?" There was no reply from the flaming bush, only that stare of fright and alertness.