"Bons-Hommes!" cried the peasant woman.

"Ah! I see. This is, no doubt, the old monastery of the Bons-Hommes,"
said the marquis.

He renewed his questions. But, like a capricious child, the peasant
woman colored, played with her wooden shoe, twisted the rope of the
cow, which was now feeding peaceably, and looked at the two hunters,
examining every part of their clothing; then she yelped, growled, and
clucked, but did not speak.

"What is your name?" said Philippe, looking at her fixedly, as if he
meant to mesmerize her.

"Genevieve," she said, laughing with a silly air.

"The cow is the most intelligent being we have seen so far," said the
marquis. "I shall fire my gun and see if that will being some one."

Just as d'Albon raised his gun, the colonel stopped him with a
gesture, and pointed to the form of a woman, probably the one who had
so keenly piqued his curiosity. At this moment she seemed lost in the
deepest meditation, and was coming with slow steps along a distant
pathway, so that the two friends had ample time to examine her.

She was dressed in a ragged gown of black satin. Her long hair fell in
masses of curls over her forehead, around her shoulders, and below her
waist, serving her for a shawl. Accustomed no doubt to this disorder,
she seldom pushed her hair from her forehead; and when she did so, it