had seen in the _bois de la Mazure_. Ye gods, and here I was trying to
get away with a lame horse! Thank heaven, the Marne was not far! I
would cross it and then await developments.

The clock in the little church struck two and an owl hooted mournfully
in the belfry as silently our cortege plodded up the steep incline. When
we reached the summit I could not resist turning around and casting a
long affectionate glance on my lovely home-shining like a fairy palace
in its setting of wonderful trees. Who could tell? I might never see
it again!

George, too, must have been penetrated with the same sentiment, for he
rode up close to the cart and grasping the mud guard, turned on his
saddle and wistfully shaking his bead, gave vent to his feelings by the
following very inelegant but extremely expressive ejaculation:

"_Quels cochons! vous chasser d'une propriete parcille!_"

A long shiver of emotion crept down my spine, and though it was but the
second of September I instinctively drew the fur collar of my coat
closer about my throat.

In front of me I could bear the wheels of our heavy-laden hay-cart
creaking as the big farm horse plodded on. Its occupants were silent,
and thanks to the moon and the lantern which hung up high behind, I
could see Julie and Madame Guix nodding with sleep.

My own poor beast limped on and besides thinking of all that I had left
undone at the chateau and planning how and where we could go, I had the
constant vision of his silent suffering in front of me. At every little