They laughed uproariously as Simon emerged, rubbing his elbow.
"There's for you! There's your preacher!" his opponent jeered.
"D---n her! she gives tongue as fast as any of them!" gibed a second.
"Will you try again, Simon? You may find another love-letter there!"
"Have done!" a third cried impatiently. "He'll not be where the hen is!
Let's back! Let's back! I said before that it wasn't this way he
turned! He's made for the river."
"The plague in his vitals!" Simon replied furiously. "Wherever he is,
I'll find him!" And, reluctant to confess himself wrong, he lingered,
casting vengeful glances at the hay.
But one of the other men cursed him for a fool; and presently, forced to
accept his defeat or be left alone, he rejoined his fellows. Slowly the
footsteps and voices receded along the lane; slowly, until silence
swallowed them, and on the quivering strained senses of the two who
remained behind, descended the gentle influence of twilight and the sweet
scent of the new-mown hay on which they lay.
La Tribe turned to his companion, his eyes shining. "Our soul is
escaped," he murmured, "even as a bird out of the snare of the fowler.
The snare is broken and we are delivered!" His voice shook as he
whispered the ancient words of triumph.
But when they came to look in the nest at Tignonville's feet there was no
egg!