﻿THE BASKET OF CHERRIES. 197 



finding her way out of the wood, she would soon be overtaken by 

 night, terrible night, with its shades and its silence as fearful as its 

 mysterious sounds. She therefore rose, and resumed her walk with 

 all the courage which her poor little heart could summon. But, alas ! 

 the further she advanced, the more was she bewildered in this laby- 

 rinth, which at every step presented a thousand obstacles, a bush, a 

 group of small trees, a ditch or marshy soil covered with heath, 

 brush- wood, and tall red fern. 



This night, so much feared, drew its curtains around her. The 

 sound of a leaf falling, of a branch moved by her passing it, filled 

 her mind with terrible fears ; she trembled at the thought of meet- 

 ing some one of those horrible men who prowl around at night, such 

 as she had read of in stories of robbers ; then, at intervals, she would 

 pause, breathless, with her heart chilled, believing she heard the dis- 

 tant howling of a wolf. 



Suddenly, through the branches of a little grove of pines, she 

 perceived a trembling light, and thought she heard the murmur of 

 voices. Hoping to find some honest wood-cutters, who had been 

 belated, she took the direction of the light, stepping very cautiously, 

 in case she should not think it advisable to speak to the people she 

 was about to encounter. She quickened her pace, and soon found 

 herself separated only by a single bush from a clearing illuminated 

 by a large fire, in which the voices which she had heard in the dis- 

 tance sounded more distinct, though she sought in vain to distin- 

 guish the words. Gliding behind a bush, she put aside the branches 

 of a thorn-tree. Then a spectacle, strange, unexpected, filled the 

 soul of Bathilde with terror. 



Around a huge fire of dry branches, a company of men, women 

 and children, were lying on the heath, watching a lamb that was 

 roasting on a wooden spit. The men, coifed with peaked hats, had 

 frightful countenances, which the play of the lights and shadows 

 rendered still more sinister. The women wore grotesque costumes, 

 and their long black tresses fell over their shoulders. As for the 

 children, they were rolling on the turf around the fire, practising a 

 thousand antics ; shrill screams and discordant laughter arose from 

 all parts of the group. 



Judge with what terror poor Bathilde was seized ! Her heart was 



