'C'est vrai, ca,' he acknowledged, with a laugh; 'oui, c'est vrai. Et
d'ou venez-vous?'
A better man than I might have felt nettled.
'Oh,' said I, 'I am not going to answer any of your questions, so you may
spare yourself the trouble of putting them. I am late enough already; I
want help. If you will not guide me yourself, at least help me to find
some one else who will.'
'Hold on,' he cried suddenly. 'Was it not you who passed in the meadow
while it was still day?'
'Yes, yes,' said the girl, whom I had not hitherto recognised; 'it was
monsieur; I told him to follow the cow.'
'As for you, mademoiselle,' said I, 'you are a farceuse.'
'And,' added the man, 'what the devil have you done to be still here?'
What the devil, indeed! But there I was.
'The great thing,' said I, 'is to make an end of it'; and once more
proposed that he should help me to find a guide.
'C'est que,' he said again, 'c'est que - il fait noir.'
'Very well,' said I; 'take one of your lanterns.'
'No,' he cried, drawing a thought backward, and again intrenching himself
behind one of his former phrases; 'I will not cross the door.'
I looked at him. I saw unaffected terror struggling on his face with
unaffected shame; he was smiling pitifully and wetting his lip with his
tongue, like a detected schoolboy. I drew a brief picture of my state,
and asked him what I was to do.
'I don't know,' he said; 'I will not cross the door.'
Here was the Beast of Gevaudan, and no mistake.
'Sir,' said I, with my most commanding manners, 'you are a coward.'
And with that I turned my back upon the family party, who hastened to
retire within their fortifications; and the famous door was closed again,
but not till I had overheard the sound of laughter. Filia barbara pater
barbarior. Let me say it in the plural: the Beasts of Gevaudan.
The lanterns had somewhat dazzled me, and I ploughed distressfully among
stones and rubbish-heaps. All the other houses in the village were both
dark and silent; and though I knocked at here and there a door, my
knocking was unanswered. It was a bad business; I gave up Fouzilhac with
my curses. The rain had stopped, and the wind, which still kept rising,
began to dry my coat and trousers. 'Very well,' thought I, 'water or no
water, I must camp.' But the first thing was to return to Modestine. I
am pretty sure I was twenty minutes groping for my lady in the dark; and
if it had not been for the unkindly services of the bog, into which I
once more stumbled, I might have still been groping for her at the dawn.
My next business was to gain the shelter of a wood, for the wind was cold
as well as boisterous.
