The peasant woman shook her head, saying,-- "Listen, traveller; in times of revolution you must not say things that cannot be understood, for you might be arrested." "But the Tourgue," cried the mother; "madam, for the love of the Infant Jesus and of the Blessed Virgin in Paradise I pray you, I beg of you, I beseech you, madam, tell me how I can find the road to the Tourgue!" Then the peasant woman grew angry. "I don't know! And if I did, I would not tell you! It is a bad place. People don't go there." "But I am going there," said the mother. And once more she started on her way. The woman, as she watched her depart, muttered to herself:-- "She must have something to eat, whatever she does;" and running after Michelle Fléchard, she put a dark-looking cake in her hand, saying,-- "There is something for your supper." Michelle Fléchard took the buckwheat-cake, but she neither turned nor made reply as she pursued her way. She went forth from the village, and just as she reached the last houses she met three little ragged and barefooted children trotting along. She went up to them and said,-- "Here are two boys and a girl;" and when she saw them looking at her bread, she gave it to them. The children took the bread, but they were evidently frightened. She entered the forest. IV. A MISTAKE. Meanwhile, on this very day, before dawn, amid the dim shadows of the forest, the following scene took place on the bit of road that leads from Javené to Lécousse. All the roads of the Bocage are shut in between high banks, and those enclosing the one that runs from Javené to Parigné by way of Lécousse are even higher than usual; indeed the road, winding as it does, might well be called a ravine. It leads from Vitré, and has had the honor of jolting Madame de Sévigné's carriage. Shut in as it is by hedges on the right and on the left, no better spot for an ambush could well be found.