[Picture: Colaquet, the donkey] The unfortunate Colaquet, whom they had forgotten in the hurry of departure, was their donkey, a pretty little grey donkey, with a bright and artless look. A few days before, it had been bitten on the muzzle by a viper, and it had been turned out to graze in a little field of after-grass; and there he was, looking at his masters going away, leaning his swollen head, which gave him the appearance of one of the beasts of the Apocalypse, over the hedge. How could they take him? He would die on the road, and yet the veterinary surgeon had promised to cure him. The fate of the poor animal, rather resembling my own, touched my heart. [Picture: . . the keeper pressed my hand.] I promised to take care of Colaquet, and to put him into the stable every night. The good people thanked me, and we parted. [Picture: Mother Guillard leaving her home] A sad parting! The carts, heavy and overloaded, slowly followed the wide forest road, grinding on the pebbles as they went along. The children were running on each side, excited by the unexpected journey. The men, in single file, skirted the edge of the wood, their guns on their shoulders, all of them old soldiers, well trained and disciplined. Behind them the dogs followed, hanging their heads uneasily, hardly straying even to listen to the flight of a hen-pheasant, or to sniff the trace of a rabbit. Domestic animals do not like changing their quarters, and these were following in the track of the carts, now become their wandering homes. Mother Guillard came last, holding in her hand her magpie’s large cage, and from time to time looking back. Seated on the curbstone near the principal entrance, I watched them till the whole party disappeared from my sight in the narrowing perspective of the road. I saw the last glance on the gun-barrels, I heard the grinding of the last wheel, and the dust of the highway swallowed them up in a cloud . . . It was all over. I was alone. This thought has given me an unaccountable sensation of uneasiness. [Picture: Looking along the empty road] * * * * * [Picture: Robert alone in the Hermitage garden] _September_ 7_th_, 8_th_ _and_ 9_th_.