was utterly unconscious of it.

"The scoundrel!" cried Michaud.

Then, with an involuntary and impotent gesture, such as mad men and
wise men can both be forced into giving, he shook his fist in the
direction in which he had caught sight of Nicolas disappearing with
his sister.

"Then you were not playing?" said the abbe with a searching look at La
Pechina.

"Don't fret her," interposed the countess; "let us return to the
pavilion."

Genevieve, though quite exhausted, found strength under Michaud's eyes
to walk. The countess followed the bailiff through one of the by-paths
known to keepers and poachers where only two can go abreast, and which
led to the gate of the Avonne.

"Michaud," said the countess when they reached the depth of the wood,
"We must find some way of ridding the neighborhood of such vile
people; that child is actually in danger of death."

"In the first place," replied Michaud, "Genevieve shall not leave the
pavilion. My wife will be glad to take the nephew of Vatel, who has
the care of the park roads, into the house. With Gounod (that is his
name) and old Cornevin, my wife's foster-father, always at hand, La
Pechina need never go out without a protector."