Germain soon found himself at the spot on the edge of the pool where he had passed the night. The fire was still smoking; an old woman was picking up what was left of the dead wood Marie had collected. Germain stopped to question her. She was deaf, and misunderstood his questions.  
"Yes, my boy," she said, "this is the Devil's Pool. It's a bad place, and you mustn't come near it without throwing three stones in with your left hand and crossing yourself with your right: that drives away the spirits. Unless they do that, misfortune comes to those who walk around it."
 
"I didn't ask you about that," said Germain, drawing nearer to her and shouting at the top of his voice: "Haven't you seen a girl and a young child going through the woods?"
 
"Yes," said the old woman, "there was a small child drowned there!"
 
Germain shivered from head to foot; but luckily the old woman added:
 
"That was a long, long while ago; they put up a beautiful cross; but on a fine stormy night the evil spirits threw it into the water. You can still see one end of it. If any one had the bad luck to stop here at night, he would be very sure not to be able to go away before dawn. It would do him no good to walk, walk: he might travel two hundred leagues through the woods and find himself still in the same place."—The ploughman's imagination was impressed, do what he would, by what he heard, and the idea of the misfortune which might follow, to justify¹ the remainder of the old woman's assertions, took such complete possession of his brain that he felt cold all over his body. Despairing of obtaining any additional information, he mounted his horse and began to ride through the woods, calling Pierre at the top of his voice, whistling, cracking his whip, breaking off branches to fill the forest with the noise of his progress, then listening to see if any voice answered; but he heard naught² but the bells on the cows scattered³ among the bushes, and the fierce grunting⁴ of pigs fighting over the acorns⁵.
 
At last, Germain heard behind him the footsteps of a horse following in his track, and a man of middle age, swarthy, robust⁶, dressed like a semi-bourgeois⁷, shouted to him to stop. Germain had never seen the farmer of Ormeaux; but an angry instinct led him to determine at once that it was he. He turned, and, eyeing him from head to foot, waited to hear what he had to say to him.
 
"Haven't you seen a young girl of fifteen or sixteen, with a little boy, pass this way?" said the farmer, affecting an indifferent manner, although he was visibly moved.
 
"What do you want of her?" demanded Germain, not seeking to disguise his indignation.
 
"I might tell you that that was none of your business, my friend, but as I have no reason to hide it, I will tell you that she's a shepherdess I hired for the year without knowing her.—When she came to the farm, she seemed to me too young and not strong enough for the work. I thanked her, but I insisted on paying her what her little journey had cost; and she went off in a rage while my back was turned.—She was in such a hurry that she even forgot part of her things and her purse, which hasn't very much in it, to be sure; a few sous, I suppose!—but as I had business in this direction, I thought I might meet her and give her what she forgot and what I owe her."
 
Germain was too honest a soul not to hesitate when he heard that story, which was possible at least, if not very probable. He fixed⁸ a piercing gaze on the farmer, who bore his scrutiny⁹ with much impudence¹⁰ or else with perfect innocence¹¹.
 
"I want to have a clear conscience," said Germain to himself, and, restraining his indignation, he continued aloud:
 
"She's a girl from our neighborhood; I know her: she must be somewhere about here. Let us go on together—we shall find her, I've no doubt."
 
"You are right," said the farmer. "Let's go on—but, if we don't find her at the end of the path, I give it up—for I must take the Ardentes road."
 
"Oho!" thought the ploughman, "I won't leave you! even if I should have to twist around the Devil's Pool with you for twenty-four hours!"
 
"Stay!" said Germain suddenly, fixing his eyes on a clump¹² of furze which was moving back and forth¹³ in a peculiar¹⁴ way: "holà! holà! Petit-Pierre, my child, is that you?"
 
The child, recognizing his father's voice, leaped out of the bushes like a kid, but when he saw that he was with the farmer, he stopped as if in terror, and stood still, uncertain what to do.
 
"Come, my Pierre, come, it's me!" cried the ploughman, riding toward him and leaping down from his horse to take him in his arms: "and where's little Marie?"
 
"She's hiding there, because she's afraid of that bad black man, and so am I."
 
&............