to the wise friend that may know a solution."

"At least the little-wise can seek for one."

"Ah, if Monsieur would only find the remedy!"

"It is in the hands of fate."

Madame crossed herself.

"Of the _Bon Dieu_, Monsieur."

At another time Madame Barbière said:--

"It was in such a parched summer as this threatens to be that my Camille
came home in the mists of the morning possessed. He was often out on the
sweet hills all night--that was nothing. It had been a full moon, and the
whiteness of it was on his face like leprosy, but his hands were hot with
fever. Ah, the dreadful summer! The milk turned sour in the cows' udders
and the tufts of the stone pines on the mountains fell into ashes like
Dead Sea fruit. The springs were dried, and the great cascade of Buet
fell to half its volume."

"This cascade; I have never seen it. Is it in the neighbourhood?"

"Of a surety. Monsieur must have passed the rocky ravine that vomits the
torrent, on his way hither."

"I remember. I will explore it. Camille shall be my guide."