'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.