Thereupon he retraced his steps, and rode back into the
woods. But the mist grew denser, the moon was altogether hidden, the
roads were very bad, the ruts deep. Twice Grise nearly fell; laden as
she was, she lost courage, and although she retained sufficient
discernment to avoid running against trees, she could not prevent her
riders from having to deal with huge branches which barred the road at
the level of their heads and put them in great danger. Germain lost his
hat in one of these encounters, and had great difficulty in finding it.
Petit-Pierre had fallen asleep, and, lying back like a log, so
embarrassed his father's arms that he could not hold the mare up or
guide her.
"I believe we're bewitched," said Germain, drawing rein once more: "for
these woods aren't big enough for a man to lose himself in unless he's
drunk, and here we have been riding round and round for two hours,
unable to get out of them. Grise has only one idea in her head, and that
is to go back to the house, and she was the one that made me go astray.
If we want to go home, we have only to give her her head. But when we
may be within two steps of the place where we are to spend the night,
we should be mad to give up finding it, and begin such a long ride over
again. But I don't know what to do.
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