Catherine shrugged her shoulders very slightly. She had no good reasons to fear Pitou and yet his persistency worried her.
"Enough of this," she said, "I am going over to Fertemilon."
She spoke so imperiously that the peasant remained riveted to the spot, hanging his head.
"She thinks I am changed, but," said he, "it is she who is another sort altogether."
When he was roused by hearing the horse's hoofs going away, he looked out and saw Catherine riding by a side path towards the highway.
It occurred to him that though she had forbid him to accompany her, she had not said he must not follow her.
He dashed out and took a short cut through the woods, where he was at home, till he reached the main road. But though he waited a half-hour, he saw nobody.
He thought she might have forgotten something at the farm and started back for it; and he returned by the highway. But on looking up a lane he spied her white cap at a distance.
Instead of going to Fertemilon, as she distinctly stated, she was proceeding to Boursonne.
He darted on in the same direction but by a parallel line.
It was no longer to follow her but to spy her.
He was answered by seeing her thrash her horse into the trot in order to rejoin a horseman who rode to meet her with as much eagerness as she showed on her part.
On coming nearer, as the pair halted at meeting, Pitou recognized by his elegant form and stylish dress the neighboring lord, Isidore Charny. He was brother of the Count of Charny, lieutenant of the Royal Lifeguards, and accredited as favorite of the Queen.
Pitou knew him well and lately from having seen him at the village dances where Catherine chose him for partner.
Dropping to the ground in the brush and creeping up like a viper, he heard the couple.
"You are late to-day, Master Isidore," began Catherine.
"To-day?" thought the eavesdropper; "it appears that he has been punctual on other meetings."
"It is not my fault, my darling Kate," replied the young noble. "A letter from my brother delayed me, to which I had to reply by the bearer. But fear nothing, I shall be more exact another time."
Catherine smiled and Isidore pressed her hand so tenderly that Pitou felt upon thorns.
"Fresh news from Paris?" she asked. "So have I. Did you not say that when something alike happens to two persons, it is called sympathy?"