Then Germain made his escape, and walked away toward the meadows where Leonard had pointed out to him some of his cattle. It was true that Father Maurice intended to buy, and Germain thought that if he were to bring home a fine pair of oxen at a reasonable price, he might more easily receive a pardon for wilfully relinquishing the purpose of his journey. He walked rapidly, and soon found himself at some distance from Ormeaux. Then of a sudden, he felt a desire to kiss his son and to see little Marie once again, although he had lost all hope and even had chased away the thought that he might some day owe his happiness to her. Everything that he had heard and seen: this woman, flirtatious and vain; this father, at once shrewd and short-sighted, encouraging his daughter in habits of pride and untruth; this city luxury, which seemed to him a transgression against the dignity of country manners; this time wasted in foolish, empty words; this home so different from his own; and above all, that deep uneasiness which comes to a laborer of the fields when he leaves his accustomed toil: all the trouble and annoyance of the past few hours made Germain long to be with his child and with his little neighbor. Even had he not been in love, he would have sought her to divert his mind and raise his spirits to their wonted level. But he looked in vain over the neighboring meadows. He saw neither little Marie nor little Pierre, and yet it was the hour when shepherds are in the fields. There was a large flock in a pasture. He asked of a young boy who tended them whether the sheep belonged to the farm of Ormeaux. “Yes,” said the child. “Are you the shepherd? Do boys tend the flocks of the farm, amongst you?” “No, I am taking care of them to-day, because the shepherdess went away. She was ill.” “But have you not a new shepherdess, who came this morning?” “Yes, surely; but she, too, has gone already.” “What! gone? Did she not have a child with her?” “Yes, a little boy who cried. They both went away after they had been here two hours.” “Went away! Where?” “Where they came from, I suppose. I didn’t ask them.” “But why did they go away?” asked Germain, growing more and more uneasy. “How the deuce do I know?” “Did they not agree about wages? Yet that must have been settled before.” “I can tell you nothing about it. I saw them come and go, nothing more.” Germain walked toward the farm and questioned the farmer. Nobody could give him an explanation; but after speaking with the farmer, he felt sure that the girl had gone without saying a word, and had taken the weeping child with her. “Can they have been ill-treating my son?” cried Germain. “It was your son, then? How did he happen to be with the little girl? Where do you come from, and what is your name?” Germain, seeing that after the fashion of the country they were answering him with questions, stamped his foot impatiently, and asked to speak with the master.