Germain had too honest a heart not to pause at hearing a story which, however unlikely, was not impossible. He fastened his penetrating gaze on the farmer, who submitted to the examination with a plentiful supply of impudence or of good faith. “I wish to get at the bottom of this matter,” said Germain; “and,” continued he, suppressing his indignation, “the girl lives in my village. I know her. She can’t be far away. Let’s ride on together; we shall find her, no doubt.” “You are right,” said the farmer; “let’s move on; but if we do not find her before we reach the end of this road, I shall give up, for I must turn off toward Ardentes.” “Oh, oh!” thought the peasant, “I shall not part with you, even if I have to follow you around the Devil’s Pool for twenty-four hours.” “Stop,” said Germain suddenly, fixing his eyes on a clump of broom which waved in a peculiar manner. “Halloa! halloa! Petit Pierre, is that you, my child?” The boy recognized his father’s voice, and came out from the broom leaping like a young deer; but when he saw Germain in company with the farmer, he stopped dismayed, and stood irresolute. “Come, my Pierre, come. It is I,” cried the husbandman, as he leaped from his horse and ran toward his boy to take him in his arms; “and where is little Marie?” “She is hiding there, because she is afraid of that dreadful black man, and so am I.” “You needn’t be afraid. I am here. Marie, Marie. It is I.” Marie crept toward them, but the moment she saw Germain with the farmer close behind, she sprang forward, and throwing herself into his arms, clung to him as a daughter to her father. “Oh, my brave Germain!” she cried, “you will defend me. I am not afraid when you are near.” Germain shuddered. He looked at Marie. She was pale; her clothes were torn by the thorns which had scratched her as she passed, rushing toward the brake like a stag chased by the hunters. But neither shame nor despair were in her face. “Your master wishes to speak to you,” said he, his eyes fixed on her features. “My master!” she exclaimed fiercely; “that man is no master of mine, and he never shall be. You, Germain, you are my master. I want you to take me home with you. I will be your servant for nothing.” The farmer advanced, feigning impatience. “Little girl,” said he, “you left something behind at the farm, which I am bringing back to you.” “No, you are not, sir,” answered little Marie. “I didn’t forget anything, and I have nothing to ask of you.” “Listen a moment,” returned the farmer. “It’s I who have something to tell you. Come with me. Don’t be afraid. It’s only a word or two.” “You may say them aloud. I have no secrets with you.” “At any rate, do take your money.” “My money? You owe me nothing, thank God!” “I suspected as much,” said Germain under his breath, “but I don’t care, Marie. Listen to what he has to say to you, for--I am curious to know. You can tell me afterward. Go up to his horse. I shall not lose sight of you.”