Gilbert, who had not removed his gaze from the map over which he bent, now stood up and looked at the priest. “I fear that day will never come, Father,” he returned in polite and chilling tones. “But I rejoice that you are convinced I have acted rightly. And it is done, and there is an end of it, and, as you say, we will bury the subject. Perhaps you would kindly give Louis a hint that I do not desire to be thanked . . . as though I had given him a horse or paid his debts for him,” he added to himself. M. des Graves looked at the pale, resolute face, and his eyes were full of compassion and understanding. “It shall be as you wish, my son,” he said quietly. “You have acted; there is no need of further words. . . . Ah, here is Louis. Louis, we are looking out the roads to Les Herbiers.” “And I have got the wrong map,” said the Marquis, rolling it up. “Please bring me the bundle by the bookcase, Louis. Thank you. Now the distance: from here to Saint-Martin-des-Noyers— supposing that we go that way—six miles; from Saint-Martin to Les Quatre Chemins another six——” “And from Les Quatre Chemins to Les Herbiers about the same,” finished Louis. “And after that?” He laughed gaily. “That lamp of yours is going out, Gilbert. However, it is nearly dawn already.” CHAPTER XXXIX THE FOUR ROADS “On the road that goes northward the red foemen ride; On the road that goes west, hark, the sob of the tide! To the east a false comrade—to the southward . . . who knows? And high up in heaven the black night-wind blows. . . . But I’m for the saddle; one cup and we part, Though all roads of the world hold a sword for my heart!” —_The Roads of the World._ But they never got to Les Herbiers. On that strange daybreak march a better, if a more hazardous, idea had occurred to Gilbert. Between him and Les Herbiers lay Les Quatre Chemins, the cross-roads where the highway from Nantes to La Rochelle cut that from Saumur to Les Sables. Though nothing but the tiniest hamlet had grown up at their intersection, the spot was strategically of immense importance, for a force holding it could prevent supplies and help from coming southwards. Château-Foix knew that his little troop could not hope to block the way against any large contingent, but no such contingent could yet have been got together; and smaller bodies, if they knew the route to be cut, would hesitate before adventuring upon it. He consulted Louis; he took the opinion of the leading peasants, and bivouacked that evening among the hedges of the Bocage.