On foot, some twenty paces in the rear came Madame d’Escorval, leaning on the abbe’s arm. It was very dark, but even if they had been in the full sunshine, the former cure of Sairmeuse might have encountered any of his old parishioners without the least danger of detection. He had allowed his hair and beard to grow; his tonsure had entirely disappeared, and his sedentary life had caused him to become much stouter. He was clad like all the well-to-do peasants of the neighbourhood, his face being partially hidden by a large slouch hat. He had not felt so much at ease for months past. Obstacles which had originally seemed to him insurmountable, had now vanished, and in the near future he saw the baron’s innocence proclaimed by an impartial tribunal, while he himself was re-installed in the parsonage of Sairmeuse. If it had not been for his recollection of Maurice he would have had nothing to trouble his mind. Why had young d’Escorval given no sign of life? It seemed impossible for him to have met with any misfortune without hearing of it, for there was brave old Corporal Bavois who would have risked anything to come and warn them, if Maurice had been in danger. The abbe was so absorbed in these reflections, that he did not notice Madame d’Escorval was leaning more heavily on his arm and gradually slackening her pace. “I am ashamed to confess it,” she said at last, “but I can go no farther. It is so long since I was out of doors, that I have almost forgotten how to walk.” “Fortunately we are almost there,” replied the priest; and indeed a moment afterwards young Poignot drew up at the corner of the foot-path leading to the Borderie. Telling the baron that the journey was ended he gave a low whistle, like that which had warned Marie-Anne of his arrival a few hours before. No one appeared or replied, so he whistled again, in a louder key, and then a third time with all his might--still there was no response. Madame d’Escorval and the abbe had now overtaken the cart, “It’s very strange that Marie-Anne doesn’t hear me,” remarked young Poignot, turning to them. “We can’t take the baron to the house until we have seen her. She knows that very well. Shall I run up and warn her?” “She’s asleep, perhaps,” replied the abbe; “stay with your horse, my boy, and I’ll go and wake her.”