Cecile
felt fascinated by this farm with its English frontage. She could not
explain either her hopes or her fears with regard to it. But an
unaccountable desire was over her to remain in the forest for a short
time before they proceeded on their journey.
"Let us rest here just one day longer," she would plead in her
gentle way; and Joe, though seeing no reason for what seemed like
unnecessary delay, nevertheless yielded to her demand.
He was not idle himself. As neither fiddling nor dancing seemed to
pay, he determined to earn money in some other manner; so, as there
were quantities of fir cones in the forests, he collected great piles
and took them into Arcachon for sale.
While Joe was away, sometimes accompanied by Maurice, sometimes
alone, Cecile would yield to that queer fascination, which seemed
unaccountable, and wander silently, and yet with a certain anxiety to
the borders of that English-looking farm.
Never did she dare to venture within its precincts. But she would
come to the edge of the paling which divided its rich meadows from
the road, and watch the cattle browsing, and the cocks, and hens, and
ducks and geese, going in and out, with wistful and longing eyes.
Once, from under the low and pretty porch, she saw a child run
eagerly, with shouts of laughter. This child, aged about two, had
golden hair and a fair skin. Cecile had seen no child like him
in the village. He Looked like an English boy. How did he and that
English-looking farm get into the sequestered forest of the Landes?
After seeing the child, Cecile went back to her hut, sat down on the
pine needles, and began to think.
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