Georges de Sainfoy now first looked at the sportsman standing by the roadside, and Angelot looked at him. Monsieur des Barres, a little stiff from a long day's shooting--for he was not so lithe and active as his host, and not so young as the Baron--now got down from the carriage and joined the group. "Bonjour, Monsieur Ange," he said kindly. "You have been shooting, I see, but not with your uncle. Have you met before, you two?" He glanced at Georges de Sainfoy, who stared haughtily. Even in the dim dusk Angelot could see that he was wonderfully like his mother. "No, monsieur," he answered. "Not since twenty years ago, at least, and I think my cousin remembers that time as little as I do." He spoke carelessly and lightly. De Sainfoy's fine blue eyes considered him coldly, measured his height and breadth and found them wanting. "Ah! You are a La Marinière, I suppose?" he said. "Ange de la Marinière, at your service." Georges held out his hand. It was with an oddly unwilling sensation that Angelot gave his. Though the action might be friendly, there was something slighting, something impatient, in the stranger's manner; and the cousins already disliked each other, not yet knowing why. "Are my family well? Do they expect me?" said Georges de Sainfoy. "I believe they are very well. I do not know if they expect you," Angelot answered. "Is it true that this is not the road to Lancilly?" D'Ombré growled something about military insolence, and Monsieur des Barres laughed. "Pardon, gentlemen," said De Sainfoy. "I am impatient, I know. A soldier on his way home does not expect to be stopped by etiquettes about passing on the road. My cousin knows the country; I appeal to him, as one of you did just now. Is this the way to Lancilly, or not?" Angelot laughed. "Yes--and no," he said. "What do you mean by that? Come, I am in no humour for joking." Angelot looked at him and shrugged his shoulders. "It is _a_ road, but not _the_ road," he said. "No one in his senses would drive this way to Lancilly. This part of it is bad enough; further on, where it goes down into the valley, it is much worse; I doubt if a heavy carriage could pass. You turned to the right too soon. Martin Joubard forgot this lane, perhaps. He would hardly have directed you this way--unless--" "Unless what?" "Unless he wished to show you the nature of the country, in case you should think of invading it in force." The two Chouans laughed. "Well said, Angelot!" muttered César d'Ombré. Georges de Sainfoy, stiff and haughty, did not trouble himself about any jest or earnest concealed under his cousin's speech and the way the neighbours took it. He realised, perhaps, that in this wild west country the name of Napoleon was not altogether one to conjure with, that he had not left the enemies of the Empire behind him in Spain. But he realised, too, that this was hardly the place or the time to assert his own importance and his master's authority.