When they finally found a straight, level path, and had ridden to the end of it, Germain, upon endeavoring to ascertain where he was, realized that he was lost; for Pere Maurice, in describing the road, had told him that, on leaving the woods, he would have to descend a very steep hill, cross a very large meadow, and ford the river twice.  He had advised him to be cautious about riding into the river, because there had been heavy rains at the beginning of the season, and the water might be a little high.  Seeing no steep hill, no meadow, no river, but the level moor, white as a sheet of snow, Germain drew rein, looked about for a house, waited for some one to pass, but saw nothing to give him any information.  Thereupon he retraced his steps, and rode back into the woods.  But the mist grew denser, the moon was altogether hidden, the roads were very bad, the ruts deep.  Twice Grise nearly fell; laden as she was, she lost courage, and although she retained sufficient discernment to avoid running against trees, she could not prevent her riders from having to deal with huge branches which barred the road at the level of their heads and put them in great danger.  Germain lost his hat in one of these encounters, and had great difficulty in finding it.  Petit-Pierre had fallen asleep, and, lying back like a log, so embarrassed his father’s arms that he could not hold the mare up or guide her.

“I believe we’re bewitched,” said Germain, drawing rein once more:  “for these woods aren’t big enough for a man to lose himself in unless he’s drunk, and here we have been riding round and round for two hours, unable to get out of them.  Grise has only one idea in her head, and that is to go back to the house, and she was the one that made me go astray.  If we want to go home, we have only to give her her head.  But when we may be within two steps of the place where we are to spend the night, we should be mad to give up finding it, and begin such a long ride over again.  But I don’t know what to do.  I can’t see either the sky or the ground, and I am afraid this child will take the fever if we stay in this infernal fog, or be crushed by our weight if the horse should fall forward.”

“We mustn’t persist in riding any farther,” said little Marie.  “Let’s get down, Germain; give me the child; I can carry him very well, and keep him covered up with the cloak better than you can.  You can lead the mare, and perhaps we shall see better when we’re nearer the ground.”

That expedient succeeded only so far as to save them from a fall, for the fog crawled along the damp earth and seemed to cling to it.  It was very hard walking, and they were so exhausted by it that they stopped when they at last found a dry place under some great oaks.  Little Marie was drenched, but she did not complain or seem disturbed.  Thinking only of the child, she sat down in the sand and took him on her knees, while Germain explored the neighborhood after throwing Grise’s rein over the branch of a tree.