"You are mistaken, mademoiselle," replied Jean Oullier. "It is, on the contrary, because I have forgotten nothing that you see me so troubled. I thought my aversion to that young man might be remorse," he muttered; "but I begin to fear it is presentiment." "Remorse!--you, Jean Oullier?" "Ah! did you hear what I said?" "Yes." "Well, I don't unsay it." "What remorse have you about him?" "None about him," said Jean Oullier, in a gloomy voice; "I meant his father." "His father?" said Bertha, shivering in spite of herself. "Yes," said Jean Oullier. "My name was changed in a day because of him; I was no longer Jean Oullier." "What were you then?" "Chastisement." "On his father?" Then, remembering all that was told in the region, of the death of Baron Michel the older, she exclaimed:-- "His father! found dead at a hunt! Ah, miserable man! what do you mean?" "That the son may avenge his father by bringing mourning for mourning upon us." "In what way?" "Through you, and because you love him madly." "What of that?" "I can myself assure you of one thing." "And that is?" "That he does not love you." Bertha shrugged her shoulders disdainfully; but the blow nevertheless reached her heart. A feeling that was almost hatred to the old Vendéan came over her. "Employ yourself in collecting your men, Jean Oullier," she said. "I obey you, mademoiselle," replied the Chouan. He went toward the gate. Bertha returned to the house, without giving him another look. But before leaving the château, Jean Oullier called up the peasant who had brought the news. "Before the soldiers got to Picaut's house did you see any one else go in there?" "To Joseph's place, or Pascal's?" "Pascal's." "Yes, I saw one man go in." "Who was he?" "The mayor of La Logerie." "You say he went into Pascal's part of the house?" "I am sure of it." "You saw him?" "As plain as I see you." "Which way did he go when he left it?" "Toward Machecoul." "The same way by which the soldiers came soon after, wasn't it?" "Exactly; it wasn't half an hour after he left before they came." "Good!" ejaculated Jean Oullier. Shaking his clenched fist in the direction of La Logerie, he muttered to himself, "Ah, Courtin! Courtin! you are tempting God. My dog killed yesterday, this treachery to-day,--you try my patience too far!" XLIV. MAÎTRE JACQUES AND HIS RABBITS. To the south, of Machecoul, forming a triangle round the village of Légé, stretch three forests. They are called respectively the forests of Touvois, Grandes-Landes, and La Roche-Servière.