Then farther on she lost these traces. But in a
neighboring field she thought she found them again. The new trail
conducted her to the edge of the forest, where every indication was
effaced.
Francoise, nevertheless, plunged beneath the trees. It solaced her to
be alone. She sat down for an instant, but at the thought that time was
passing she leaped to her feet. How long had it been since she left the
mill? Five minutes?--half an hour? She had lost all conception of time.
Perhaps Dominique had concealed himself in a copse she knew of, where
they had one afternoon eaten filberts together. She hastened to the
copse, searched it. Only a blackbird flew away, uttering its soft, sad
note. Then she thought he might have taken refuge in a hollow of the
rocks, where it had sometimes been his custom to lie in wait for game,
but the hollow of the rocks was empty. What good was it to hunt for him?
She would never find him, but little by little the desire to discover
him took entire possession of her, and she hastened her steps. The idea
that he might have climbed a tree suddenly occurred to her. She advanced
with uplifted eyes, and that he might be made aware of her presence she
called him every fifteen or twenty steps.
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