which abound in the clearings exhaled such dense vapor that when Grise
passed through them, they only knew it by the splashing of her feet and
the difficulty she had in pulling them out of the mud.

When they finally found a straight, level path, and had ridden to the
end of it, Germain, upon endeavoring to ascertain where he was, realized
that he was lost; for Père Maurice, in describing the road, had told him
that, on leaving the woods, he would have to descend a very steep hill,
cross a very large meadow, and ford the river twice. He had advised him
to be cautious about riding into the river, because there had been heavy
rains at the beginning of the season, and the water might be a little
high. Seeing no steep hill, no meadow, no river, but the level moor,
white as a sheet of snow, Germain drew rein, looked about for a house,
waited for some one to pass, but saw nothing to give him any
information. Thereupon he retraced his steps, and rode back into the
woods. But the mist grew denser, the moon was altogether hidden, the
roads were very bad, the ruts deep. Twice Grise nearly fell; laden as
she was, she lost courage, and although she retained sufficient
discernment to avoid running against trees, she could not prevent her
riders from having to deal with huge branches which barred the road at
the level of their heads and put them in great danger. Germain lost his
hat in one of these encounters, and had great difficulty in finding it.
Petit-Pierre had fallen asleep, and, lying back like a log, so
embarrassed his father's arms that he could not hold the mare up or
guide her.

"I believe we're bewitched," said Germain, drawing rein once more: "for
these woods aren't big enough for a man to lose himself in unless he's
drunk, and here we have been riding round and round for two hours,
unable to get out of them. Grise has only one idea in her head, and that