When the comte had seen the hut set off on its terrible journey, he had fled away through the rain and the wind, and had run on and on across the country like a madman. He ran for several hours, heedless of which way his steps were taking him, and, at nightfall, he found himself at his own chateau. The servants were anxiously awaiting his return, and hastened to tell him that the two horses had just returned riderless, for Julien's had followed the other one. M. de Fourville staggered back. "Some accident must have happened to my wife and the vicomte," he said in broken tones. "Let everyone go and look for them." He started off again, himself, as though he were going to seek them, but, as soon as he was out of sight, he hid behind a bush, and watched the road along which the woman he still loved so dearly would be brought dead or dying, or perhaps maimed and disfigured for life. In a little while a cart passed by, bearing a strange load; it drew up before the chateau-gates, then passed through them. Yes, he knew it was she; but the dread of hearing the horrible truth forced him to stay in his hiding-place, and he crouched down like a hare, trembling at the faintest rustle. He waited for an hour--perhaps two--and yet the cart did not come back again. He was persuaded that his wife was dying, and the thought of seeing her, of meeting her eyes was such a torture to him, that, seized with a sudden fear of being discovered and compelled to witness her death, he again set off running, and did not stop till he was hidden in the midst of a wood. Then he thought that perhaps she needed help and that there was no one to take care of her as he could, and he sped back in mad haste. As he was going into the house, he met his gardener. "Well?" he cried, excitedly. The man dared not answer the truth. "Is she dead?" almost yelled M. de Fourville. "Yes, Monsieur le comte," stammered the servant. The comte experienced an intense relief at the answer; all his agitation left him, and he went quietly and firmly up the steps. In the meantime, the other cart had arrived at Les Peuples. Jeanne saw it in the distance, and guessing that a corpse lay upon the mattress, understood at once what had happened; the shock was so great that she fell to the ground unconscious. When she came to herself again she found her father supporting her head, and bathing her forehead with vinegar. "Do you know--?" he asked hesitatingly. "Yes, father," she whispered, trying to rise; but she was in such pain that she was forced to sink back again. That evening she gave birth to a dead child--a girl.