But a moment later I saw that his own face, too, was betraying unexpected emotion.  A plaintive whining and a bushy tail brushing against his legs had made him start.  He uttered a loud cry on seeing Blaireau.  The poor animal had scented his master from afar, and had rushed forward with all the speed of his first youth to roll at his feet.  For a moment we thought he was going to die there, for he remained motionless and convulsed, as it were, under Marcasse’s caressing hand; then suddenly he sprang up, as if struck with an idea worthy of a man, and set off with the speed of lightning in the direction of Patience’s hut.

“Yes, go and tell my friend, good dog!” exclaimed Marcasse; “a better friend than you would be more than man.”

He turned towards me, and I saw two big tears trickling down the cheeks of the impassive hidalgo.

We hastened our steps till we reached the hut.  It had undergone striking improvements; a pretty rustic garden, inclosed by a quickset hedge with a bank of stones behind, extended round the little house.  The approach to this was no longer a rough little path, but a handsome walk, on either side of which splendid vegetables stretched out in regular rows, like an army in marching order.  The van was composed of a battalion of cabbages; carrots and lettuces formed the main body; and along the hedge some modest sorrel brought up the rear.  Beautiful apple-trees, already well grown, spread their verdant shade above these plants; while pear-trees, alternately standards and espaliers, with borders of thyme and sage kissing the feet of sunflowers and gilliflowers, convicted Patience of a strange return to ideas of social order, and even to a taste for luxuries.

The change was so remarkable that I thought I should no longer find Patience in the cottage.  A strange feeling of uneasiness began to come over me; my fear almost turned into certainty when I saw two young men from the village occupied in trimming the espaliers.  Our passage had lasted more than four months, and it must have been quite six months since we had had any news of the hermit.  Marcasse, however, seemed to feel no fear; Blaireau had told him plainly that Patience was alive, and the footmarks of the little dog, freshly printed in the sand of the walk, showed the direction in which he had gone.  Notwithstanding, I was so afraid of seeing a cloud come over the joy of this day, that I did not dare to question the gardeners about Patience.  Silently I followed the hidalgo, whose eyes grew full of tears as they gazed upon this new Eden, and whose prudent mouth let no sound escape save the word “change,” which he repeated several times.

At last I grew impatient; the walk seemed interminable, though very short in reality, and I began to run, my heart beating wildly.

“Perhaps Edmee,” I said to myself, “is here!”

However, she was not there, and I could only hear the voice of the hermit saying: