There was a pause, during which even birds and squirrels seemed to have passed the word "Silence!" round. Only a slight flutter among the young leaves overhead disturbed the perfect stillness of this fateful moment. Fernande's entire hope of success rested on the efficacy of her last heartrending appeal.
For a second or two the ogre appeared to hesitate. Then a halting voice broke the spell of expectancy which had fallen over the woods.
And the dragging, heavy footstep was once more audible as it approached quite close to her. Again Fernande sighed, more woefully than before.
"Alas!" she moaned, "I am utterly helpless. But...."
She raised herself upon her elbow, looked round her in perfect bewilderment, passed her hand once or twice over her forehead, and finally made up her mind to allow her blue eyes to rest on de Maurel.
"M. de Maurel!" she murmured, with the most profound astonishment that human voice can possibly express.
"Mademoiselle," he responded with obvious embarrassment, "I chanced to be passing by.... You seem to be in pain.... Is there aught that I can do?"
"There is, Monsieur," she replied unblushingly. "I fear that I have broken my ankle. I am in great pain, and very far from home. My name is Fernande de Courson...."
"I know that, Mademoiselle," he broke in simply.
"We are cousins," she suggested demurely.
Had Ronnay de Maurel been asked to hoist up on his shoulder a cannon which weighed a couple of tons, he would have felt less puzzled how to proceed than he did now, when an exquisite thing which looked as if it might break at the slightest touch asked him to help her to raise herself from the ground.
He was, as usual, dressed in blouse and rough breeches. He had no cap on his head, and his feet were encased in heavy riding-boots. For a second or two he looked round him with pathetic helplessness, as if he expected the dwellers of the forest to come to his aid in this awful dilemma. But no one came, and the lovely creature, whose tiny bare foot looked like an exquisite flower, was appealing--oh, so piteously, for help!
"Alas, Monsieur!" she said, "an you'll not come to my assistance, I shall have to wait till some chance passer-by prove more full of pity than you. It is six kilomètres from here to the Château of Courson and I am breakfastless."