And at last it was borne in upon La Vireville that, daylight or no daylight, he must somehow set a greater distance between himself and the now enlightened village of Porhoët. With luck, the copse where he lay might turn out to be a spur of the wood of Roscanvel, which he knew, from a previous study of the map, to be somewhere thereabouts. In that case, by going a little farther he might find shelter till the evening, even if he had to climb a tree to attain it. He sighed, sat up, and tried to draw the remains of his boot over his foot--an attempt that proved out of the question. So he tied up the injured member as best he could, cut himself a stout stick out of the coppice, and, just as the first rays of the sun began to strike through the trees, set his face towards the thickness of the wood. (2) Because it had been raining hard since ten in the morning--though now, by sunset, it had ceased--the bad road was exceedingly muddy and full of extensive pools. These it was at the moment so profoundly delighting a small male child to stir up with a twig that he did not observe the slow approach of a wayfarer, nor look up till he heard himself addressed. He then saw a tall man leaning upon a stick and wearing only one boot. He was bareheaded, wet, and very pale; but he wore a tricolour sash. "Child," said the apparition, and its voice sounded strange and small, like the voice of Uncle Pierre when he was ill of the fever--"child, is there any house along this road . . . not far away?" The boy was frightened, and much desired to return no answer at all, but he knew that you must not trifle with those who wore the tricolour scarf, or it would be the worse for you. So, rubbing his bare toes for solace in the delicious mud, he responded truthfully: "Round the next corner, Citizen, you will see the old manoir of L'Estournel. But nobody lives there, and it is full of ghosts, witches, and all manner of evil things. One does not pass it after dark." "Thank you," said the man with the tricolour. And adding solemnly, "May you live to be an ornament to your country," he gave him a silver piece and limped on. The boy watched him with open mouth till he disappeared round the bend. It seemed to La Vireville that he had never known the possession of two sound feet; also, that he had been walking for several days, though it was only at noon that he had left the forest, which had not proved a very happy resting-place. But since then he had set he knew not how many miles between himself and Porhoët; indeed, by now he had almost lost count of direction. He was wet and hungry, while his foot was a plaster of mud, blood, and devouring pain. Finally, he was on an open road, where he little desired to find himself. But he hoped now to force an entrance into the deserted house.