“Let me embrace you,” said Mitaine, holding out her arms to the peasant, who sank on his knees, as if in the presence of the dead. She flung her arms round his neck, and kissed him; the old man wept; one of his tears fell on Mitaine’s hand, she signed herself with it as if it had been holy water;--then she departed. The peasant remained on his knees praying until sunset; after that he sought his miserable home, put his children to bed, lit a taper, and again betook himself to prayer until morning. [Illustration: 210] [Illustration: 211] CHAPTER VIII. THROUGH THE FORESTS. THE sun sank down in a flood of purple, the birds were chanting their vespers. “Come on, Croque-Miton-Mita-Mitaine!” cried the girl. “I would not stir from the spot for the spurs of knighthood.” The sky changed from gold to pale blue, from pale blue to violet, from violet to indigo, from indigo to black. A thousand stars peeped out to see what was going to happen. A waning moon climbed slowly up the heavens, shedding a feeble light and yellow, as if smitten with fever. The air became cooler, a gentle breeze began to stir the foliage, covered with the dust of day, and to awaken it to its morning toilet. Every sound was hushed, except the rustle of the leaves. The grass had growm so thick and long, Mitaine scarcely knew where to set her foot. She was not afraid, and yet, as she advanced, her thoughts became more grave. To be self-collected in danger is one of the signs of courage. A coward loses himself in the presence of peril. “What am I about to meet with yonder? What obstacles shall I fall in with? I have always heard my royal godfather say that there is nothing one cannot overcome by courage, skill, and perseverance; it he spoke the truth, I have nothing to fear. This Croquemitaine, perhaps, is, after all, only a robber chief, profiting by the public panic to pillage the passers-by. The passers-by?--but nobody does pass by, and, as a rule, people render pleasing, rather than terrible, the paths that lead to a snare. Pshaw! we shall soon see!” All her past life came back to Mitaine’s recollection. She seemed as if she should feel less solitary when surrounded by memories of those she loved. She seemed to hear friendly voices. “Be prudent,” whispered her mother. “Be resolute!” said Charlemagne. “Be bold!” said Roland. Thus accompanied, she pushed on with firmer tread, and halted not until she reached the border of the forest. As she entered it, her foot slipped upon some round slimy object, and a snake wound itself round her leg. “So the shame is beginning,” said Mitaine. There is room in the human heart for Prudence and Courage, they live together like good neighbours, and it would give you, my young friends, a very false idea of bravery to suppose that it cannot exist in company with caution.