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Germain knew the road as far as Magnier; but he thought that he could shorten it by not taking the avenue of Chanteloube, but going by Presles and La Sépulture, a route which he was not in the habit of taking when he went to the fair.
He threw the saddle on Grise's back, leaped upon her, and galloped away in the direction of the woods of Chanteloube. His heart was beating fast with anxiety and wrath, the perspiration rolled down his forehead. He covered Grise's sides with blood, although the mare, when she found that she was on the way to her stable, did not need to be urged to go at full speed.
Germain gazed affectionately at his children, and said to his fiancée, as they arrived at the mayor's office: "Do you know, Marie, I ride up to this door a little happier than I was the day I brought you home from the woods of Chanteloube, thinking that you would never love me; I took you in my arms to put you on the ground just as I do now, but I didn't think we should ever be together again on good Grise with this child on our knees.
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