Madame St. Lo stamped her foot on the turf.
"The little fool!" she murmured pettishly. "Does she think that I am to
be murdered that she may fatten on sighs? Oh, come up, Madame, you must
be dragged out of this!" And she started briskly towards the alders,
intent on gaining company as quickly as possible.
She had gone about fifty yards, and had as many more to traverse when she
halted. A man, bent double, was moving stealthily along the farther side
of the brook, a little in front of her. Now she saw him, now she lost
him; now she caught a glimpse of him again, through a screen of willow
branches. He moved with the utmost caution, as a man moves who is
pursued or in danger; and for a moment she deemed him a peasant whom the
bathers had disturbed and who was bent on escaping. But when he came
opposite to the alder-bed she saw that that was his point, for he
crouched down, sheltered by a willow, and gazed eagerly among the trees,
always with his back to her; and then he waved his hand to some one in
the wood.
Madame St. Lo drew in her breath. As if he had heard the sound--which
was impossible--the man dropped down where he stood, crawled a yard or
two on his face, and disappeared.
Madame stared a moment, expecting to see him or hear him. Then, as
nothing happened, she screamed.
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