Part 15 (1/2)

”Yes.”

”_B'en oui!_ The sun must s.h.i.+ne again,” muttered old Anne, ”but not in the Woods of Aulnes. _Non pas._ There is no sunlight in the Woods of Aulnes where all is dim and still; where the Blessed walk at dawn with Our Lady of Aulnes in s.h.i.+ning vestments all----”

”She has seen thin mists rising there,” whispered the Countess in his ear.

”In s.h.i.+ning robes of grace--_oui-da_!--the martyrs and the acolytes of G.o.d. It is I who tell you, _beau jeune homme_--I, Anne of Faouette. I saw them pa.s.s where, on my two knees, I gathered orange mushrooms by the brook! I heard them singing prettily and loud, hymns of our blessed Lady----”

”She heard a throstle singing by the brook,” whispered the chatelaine of Aulnes. Her breath was delicately fragrant on his cheek.

Against the grey dusk at the window she looked to him like a slim spirit returned to haunt the halls of Aulnes--some graceful shade come back out of the hazy and forgotten years of gallantry and courts and battles--the exquisite apparation of that golden time before the Vendee drowned and washed it out in blood.

”I am so glad you came,” she said. ”I have not felt so calm, so confident, in months.”

Old Anne of Faouette laid them fresh napkins and set two crystal bowls beside them and filled the bowls with fresh water from the moat.

”_Ho fois!_” she said, ”love and the heart may change, but not the Woods of Aulnes; they never change--they never change.... The golden people of Ker-Ys come out of the sea to walk among the trees.”

The Countess whispered: ”She has seen the sunbeams slanting through the trees.”

”_Vrai, c'est moi, Anne Le Bihan, qui vous dites cela, mon Capitaine!_ And, in the Woods of Aulnes the werewolf prowls. I have seen him, gallant gentleman. He walks upright, and, in his head, he has only eyes; no mouth, no teeth, no nostrils, and no hair--the Loup-Garou!--O Lady of Aulnes, adored and blessed, protect us from the Loup-Barou!”

The Countess said again to him: ”I have not felt so confident, so content, so full of faith in months----”

A far faint clamour came to their ears; high in the fading sky above the forest vast clouds of wild fowl rose like smoke, whirling, circling, swinging wide, drifting against the dying light of day, southward toward the sea.

”There is something wrong there,” he said, under his breath.

Minute after minute they watched in silence. The last misty shred of wild fowl floated seaward and was lost against the clouds.

”Is there a path to the etang?” he asked quietly.

”Yes. I will go with you----”

”No.”

”Why?”

”No. Show me the path.”

His shotgun stood by the door; he took it with him as he left the house beside her. In the moat, close by the bridge, and pointing toward the house, L'Ombre lay motionless. They saw it as they pa.s.sed, but did not speak of it to each other. At the forest's edge he halted: ”Is this the path?”

”Yes.... May I not go?”

”No--please.”

”Is there danger?”

”No.... I don't know if there is any danger.”