"Yes, of course he does," assented the émigré, relinquishing the search. "I will ask him in a moment, since I shall have further need of his topographical knowledge. For there is another matter in this letter of M. du Boishardy's. He wishes me to take over the command of the Carhoët division, now vacant through 'M. Alexis' death." Now M. du Boishardy commanded the whole department of the Côtes-du-Nord for the King, and La Vireville was consequently more or less under his orders. The young Breton's face fell. "And leave us?" he exclaimed. "No, no! M. du Boishardy wishes me to combine the two if possible. I should have to appoint a subordinate in any case. The pressing need, however, seems to be that I should go over there in person as soon as possible, for it appears that they are all at sixes and sevens since their leader's death. I must proceed to Carhoët directly I return from Jersey--for to Jersey I must go, to see the Prince de Bouillon, even if I had not the infant there to convoy into British hands. The best plan, I take it, would be to sail direct from Jersey to that part of the coast, if it is possible to land there. Grain d'Orge!" In front of that warrior, fingering his musket with one hand, was now standing Anne-Hilarion, who had abandoned his primrose-plucking, though still retaining his spoil. The old Chouan's French was very limited, for which reason conversation with him, for those ignorant of Breton, was difficult; but he and the Comte de Flavigny did appear to be holding discourse of some kind. La Vireville's summons brought not only him but Anne and his flowers also. "Thank you, my child," said La Vireville, accepting the hot nosegay. "Now you can go back and pick some for Grain d'Orge." The Chouan grinned. "You wanted me, Monsieur Augustin?" "Yes. Sit down there. You know the Carhoët division well, don't you?" "Like the palm of my hand, Monsieur Augustin." He began to arrange some of Anne's primroses on the ground. "See, here is Porhoët, the little fishing village, in the Bay of St. Guénaël, and there is Carhoët, seven miles inland, and there is the wood of Roscanvel, and there is Lanrivain, and close by there, I think, is the farm where 'M. Alexis' was killed the other day, as we heard. There is a path leading to it through a copse, and it was doubtless by that that the Blues came when they surprised him. . . . Yes, I know it well, though I cannot read the map. My sister lives at Carhoët, and I have a nephew at Roscanvel." "Good," said La Vireville, studying the chart of blossoms. "Well, mon gars, I want to go to Carhoët directly I return from Jersey. You could meet me at the fishing village, Porhoët, I suppose, and conduct me to Carhoët and some other places that I want to visit there? Can one land with any measure of safety at Porhoët?"