delirium, so full of greeting to the first rays coming from the east, that it might well be called a hymn to the sun.
Nature expanded herself, radiant and virginal; all was grace, freshness, sparkle in the forest, where a blue mist still floated; all was calm and hushed in the plain, the great lines of which undulated to infinity, the grey tones of which grew light under the reflection of the blue sky.
The murderer rose; his limbs trembled, and his teeth clattered one against the other.
He cast furtive glances around him, then parted the branches with precaution, stopping, starting, drawing back his head hastily at the least sound; then, at length, he quitted the densely grown thicket in which he had buried his knife.
He pressed forward deeper into the forest, choosing always the most shaded portions and avoiding the open parts and the beaten paths, making frequent stoppages to listen or to examine the ground before him ere he advanced. In this way he walked all day without being conscious of fatigue—so great was the agony which dominated him.
He paused at the entrance to a grove of beeches, whose imposing trunks stood white and smooth, like thousands of columns, crowned with foliage. A calm day, a harmonious silence, added to the impression of grandeur and retirement made by this beautiful spot; something animate seemed to throb amid the luminous shade of the motionless boughs, as if a soul were there amid the shadows, murmuring mysterious syllables.
The fugitive felt ill at ease, and, creeping like a reptile, forced his way under a clump of thorn bushes, the density of which completely hid him.
When he was in safety, he first raised his hand to his head and then to his stomach, and muttered, "I am hungry!"
The sound of his voice made him shudder; it was the first time he had heard it since the murder, and it resounded in his ears like a knell and a menace. For some moments he remained motionless and held his breath, as if in fear of having been heard.
When he had become a little calmer, he felt in his pockets one after the other; they contained a few sous.
"That will be enough," he said in a low tone; "in six hours I shall have crossed the frontier; then I can show myself; I can work, and shall be saved."
At the end of an hour he felt the cold begin to stiffen his limbs, for with the coming of night the dew fell, and his only clothes were a linen blouse and trousers of the same material. He rose, and, cautiously quitting his thorn bushes, continued his march. He halted at the first signs of dawn. He had reached the limits of the forest, and must now enter upon the open country, must show himself in the full light of day; and, struck with terror by this thought, he dared not advance a step further.
While he was standing hidden in a thicket the sound of horses' hoofs was heard. He turned pale.
"Gendarmes!" he gasped, crouching down upon the ground.
It was a farm-labourer going to the fields, with two horses harnessed to a waggon; he was whistling a country air while re-tying the lash of his whip.
"Jacques!" a voice cried to him.
The peasant turned round.
"Hallo! is that you Françoise? Where are you going so early?"
"Oh! I'm going to wash this bundle of linen at the spring close by."
"I'm going within two steps of it; put your bundle on one of my beasts."
"Thanks—that's not to be refused. How's the wife and the little ones—all of them?"
"I'm the weakest of the family," replied Jacques, laughing loudly; "all goes well—work, joy, and health."
He tied his lash, and the sharp crack was repeated by echo after echo.
The murderer followed him with his eyes as far as he could see him; then a deep sigh escaped from his lips, and his gaze turned to the open country spreading before him.
"I must get on," he murmured, "it is twenty-four hours since I. All is discovered, I am being sought, an hour's delay may ruin me."
He made up his mind resolutely, and quitted the forest.
At the end of ten minutes he came within sight of a church tower. Then he slackened his pace, a prey to a thousand conflicting feelings, drawn towards the village by hunger, restrained by the fear which counselled him to avoid habitations.
However, after a long struggle, during which he had advanced as much as possible under the screen of outhouses and bushes, he was about to enter the village, when he
