Here and
there, among the gorse and taller brambles, points of light could be
seen to come and go. The girl's attention redoubled, and she thought
she recognized the foremost of the dusky figures; indistinct as its
outlines were, the beating of her heart convinced her it was no other
than her lover, Marche-a-Terre. Eager to know if this mysterious
approach meant treachery, she ran to the courtyard. When she reached
the middle of its grass plot she looked alternately at the two wings
of the building and along the steep shores, without discovering, on
the inhabited side of the house, any sign of this silent approach. She
listened attentively and heard a slight rustling, like that which
might be made by the footfalls of some wild animal in the silence of
the forest. She quivered, but did not tremble. Though young and
innocent, her anxious curiosity suggested a ruse. She saw the coach
and slipped into it, putting out her head to listen, with the caution
of a hare giving ear to the sound of the distant hunters. She saw
Pille-Miche come out of the stable, accompanied by two peasants, all
three carrying bales of straw; these they spread on the ground in a
way to form a long bed of litter before the inhabited wing of the
house, parallel with the bank, bordered by dwarf trees.
"You're spreading straw as if you thought they'd sleep here! Enough,
Pille-Miche, enough!" said a low, gruff voice, which Francine
recognized.
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