brought three or four of her friends to the window; and among them Camors
recognized the old man with the violin.

The moment was a trying one. He could do nothing but lie still in his
leafy retreat--silent and immovable as a statue. The conduct of those at
the window went far to reassure him, for their eyes wandered over the
gloom with evident uncertainty, convincing him that his presence was only
suspected, not discovered. But they exchanged animated observations, to
which the hidden Count lent an attentive ear. Suddenly a strong voice--
which he recognized as belonging to him of the violin-rose over them all
in the pleasing order: "Loose the dog!"

This was sufficient for Camors. He was not a coward; he would not have
budged an inch before an enraged tiger; but he would have travelled a
hundred miles on foot to avoid the shadow of ridicule. Profiting by the
warning and a moment when he seemed unobserved, he slid from the tree,
jumped into the next field, and entered the wood at a point somewhat
farther down than the spot where he had scaled the hedge. This done, he
resumed his walk with the assured tread of a man who had a right to be
there. He had gone but a few steps, when he heard behind him the wild
barking of the dog, which proved his retreat had been opportune.

Some of the peasants he had noticed as he passed before, were still
standing at their doors. Stopping before one of them he asked:

"My friend, to whom does that large house below there, facing the other
road, belong? and whence comes that music?"

"You probably know that as well as I," replied the man, stolidly.