The fruit had fallen
from the trees and lay rotting on the ground; a cow was feeding on the
lawn and treading down the flowers in the borders, while a goat
browsed on the shoots of the vines and munched the unripe grapes.
"Here all is harmony; the devastation seems organized," said the
colonel, pulling the chain of a bell; but the bell was without a
clapper.
The huntsmen heard nothing but the curiously sharp noise of a rusty
spring. Though very dilapidated, a little door made in the wall beside
the iron gates resisted all their efforts to open it.
"Well, well, this is getting to be exciting," said de Sucy to his
companion.
"If I were not a magistrate," replied Monsieur d'Albon, "I should
think that woman was a witch."
As he said the words, the cow came to the iron gate and pushed her
warm muzzle towards them, as if she felt the need of seeing human
beings. Then a woman, if that name could be applied to the indefinable
being who suddenly issued from a clump of bushes, pulled away the cow
by its rope. This woman wore on her head a red handkerchief, beneath
which trailed long locks of hair in color and shape like the flax on a
distaff. She wore no fichu. A coarse woollen petticoat in black and
gray stripes, too short by several inches, exposed her legs.
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