Augustine, amazed at his precipitate departure, went up to the attic, and, from behind the shelter of the skylight, perceived her master striding rapidly along the road to Planche-au-Vacher.  There she lost sight of him—­the underwood was too thick.  But, after a few minutes, the gaze of the inquisitive woman was rewarded by the appearance of a dark object emerging from the copse, and defining itself on the bright pasture land beyond.  “Monsieur le Cure is going to La Thuiliere,” thought she, and with this half-satisfaction she descended to her daily occupations.

It was true, the Abbe Pernot was walking, as fast as he could, to the Vincart farm, as unmindful of the dew that tarnished his shoe-buckles as of the thorns which attacked his calves.  He had that within him which spurred him on, and rendered him unconscious of the accidents on his path.  Never, during his twenty-five years of priestly office, had a more difficult question embarrassed his conscience.  The case was a grave one, and moreover, so urgent that the Abbe was quite at a loss how to proceed.  How was it that he never had foreseen that such a combination of circumstances might occur?  A priest of a more fervent spirit, who had the salvation of his flock more at heart, could not have been taken so unprepared.  Yes; that was surely the cause!  The profane occupations in which he had allowed himself to take so much enjoyment, had distracted his watchfulness and obscured his perspicacity.  Providence was now punishing him for his lukewarmness, by interposing across his path this stumbling-block, which was probably sent to him as a salutary warning, but which he saw no way of getting over.

While he was thus meditating and reproaching himself, the thrushes were calling to one another from the branches of their favorite trees; whole flights of yellowhammers burst forth from the hedges red with haws; but he took no heed of them and did not even give a single thought to his neglected nests and snares.

He went straight on, stumbling over the juniper bushes, and wondering what he should say when he reached the farm, and how he should begin.  Sometimes he addressed himself, thus:  “Have I the right to speak?  What a revelation!  And to a young girl!  Oh, Lord, lead me in the straight way of thy truth, and instruct me in the right path!”

As he continued piously repeating this verse of the Psalmist, in order to gain spiritual strength, the gray roofs of La Thuiliere rose before him; he could hear the crowing of the cocks and the lowing of the cows in the stable.  Five minutes after, he had pushed open the door of the kitchen where La Guite was arranging the bowls for breakfast.

“Good-morning, Guitiote,” said he, in a choking voice; “is Mademoiselle Vincart up?”

“Holy Virgin!  Monsieur le Cure!  Why, certainly Mademoiselle is up.  She was on foot before any of us, and now she is trotting around the orchard.  I will go fetch her.”