They looked at the green patches on the water,--worlds where life was organizing; they pointed to the lizard playing in the sun and escaping at their approach,--behavior which has won him the title of “the friend of man.” “Proving, too, how well he knows him,” said Emile. They watched the frogs, who, less distrustful, returned to the surface of the pond, winking their carbuncle eyes as they sat upon the water-cresses. The sweet and simple poetry of Nature permeated these two souls surfeited with the conventional things of life, and filled them with contemplative emotion. Suddenly Blondet shuddered. Turning to the countess he said,-- “Did you hear that?” “What?” she asked. “A curious noise.” “Ah, you literary men who live in your studies and know nothing of the country! that is only a woodpecker tapping a tree. I dare say you don’t even know the most curious fact in the history of that bird. As soon as he has given his tap, and he gives millions to pierce an oak, he flies behind the tree to see if he is yet through it; and he does this every instant.” “The noise I heard, dear instructress of natural history, was not a noise made by an animal; there was evidence of mind in it, and that proclaims a man.” The countess was seized with panic, and she darted back through the wild flower-garden, seeking the path by which to leave the forest. “What is the matter?” cried Blondet, rushing after her. “I thought I saw eyes,” she said, when they regained the path through which they had reached the charcoal-burner’s open. Just then they heard the low death-rattle of a creature whose throat was suddenly cut, and the countess, with her fears redoubled, fled so quickly that Blondet could scarcely follow her. She ran like a will-o’-the-wisp, and did not listen to Blondet who called to her, “You are mistaken.” On she ran, and Emile with her, till they suddenly came upon Michaud and his wife, who were walking along arm-in-arm. Emile was panting and the countess out of breath, and it was some time before they could speak; then they explained. Michaud joined Blondet in laughing at the countess’s terror; then the bailiff showed the two wanderers the way to find the tilbury. When they reached the gate Madame Michaud called, “Prince!” “Prince! Prince!” called the bailiff; then he whistled,--but no greyhound. Emile mentioned the curious noise that began their adventure. “My wife heard that noise,” said Michaud, “and I laughed at her.” “They have killed Prince!” exclaimed the countess. “I am sure of it; they killed him by cutting his throat at one blow. What I heard was the groan of a dying animal.” “The devil!” cried Michaud; “the matter must be cleared up.”