Julien, who followed him, then perceived, with alarm, in a sort of niche formed by two screens, entirely covered with illustrations from Epinal, a strange-looking being stretched in an easy-chair, which was covered with pillows and almost hidden under various woolen draperies.  He was dressed in a long coat of coarse, pale-blue cloth.  He was bareheaded, and his long, white hair formed a weird frame for a face of bloodless hue and meagre proportions, from which two vacant eyes stared fixedly.  He sat immovable and his arms hung limply over his knees.

“Monsieur,” said Julien, bowing ceremoniously, “we are quite ashamed at having disturbed you.  Your servant forgot to inform us of your presence, and we were waiting for Mademoiselle Reine, without thinking that—­”

The old man continued immovable, not seeming to understand; he kept repeating, in the same voice, like a frightened child: 

“Rei-eine!  Rei-eine!”

The two bewildered travellers gazed at this sepulchral-looking personage, then at each other interrogatively, and began to feel very uncomfortable.  The magpie, perched upon the hanging shelf, suddenly flapped his wings, and repeated, in his turn, in falsetto: 

“Reine, queen of the woods!”

“Here I am, papa, don’t get uneasy!” said a clear, musical voice behind them.

The door had been suddenly opened, and Reine Vincart had entered.  She wore on her head a white cape or hood, and held in front of her an enormous bouquet of glistening leaves, which seemed to have been gathered as specimens of all the wild fruit-trees of the forest:  the brown beam-berries, the laburnums, and wild cherry, with their red, transparent fruit, the bluish mulberry, the orange-clustered mountain-ash.  All this forest vegetation, mingling its black or purple tints with the dark, moist leaves, brought out the whiteness of the young girl’s complexion, her limpid eyes, and her brown curls escaping from her hood.

Julien de Buxieres and his companion had turned at the sound of Reine’s voice.  As soon as she perceived them, she went briskly toward them, exclaiming: 

“What are you doing here?  Don’t you see that you are frightening him?”

Julien, humbled and mortified, murmured an excuse, and got confused in trying to relate the incident of the carriage.  She interrupted him hurriedly: 

“The carriage, oh, yes—­La Guitiote spoke to me about it.  Well, your carriage will be attended to!  Go and sit down by the fire, gentlemen; we will talk about it presently.”

She had taken the light from the driver, and placed it on an adjacent table with her plants.  In the twinkling of an eye, she removed her hood, unfastened her shawl, and then knelt down in front of the sick man, after kissing him tenderly on the forehead.  From the corner where Julien had seated himself, he could hear her soothing voice.  Its caressing tones contrasted pleasantly with the harsh accent of a few minutes before.