"I was under the boat watching the cliff," said the Chouan, undisturbed by his leader's abuse. "If I had taken Monsieur Augustin up the cliffs when he landed we might both have been shot--in spite of the truce. They shot three men yesterday. But now we can go on to the village." "I wanted to get farther than that to-night," said La Vireville, "though the devil knows how I am to manage it now. Is it impossible to push on to Carhoët at present?" "There are hussars quartered at Carhoët to-night," answered his guide. "They leave to-morrow, probably." La Vireville began to struggle to his feet. "I see. That is sufficient reason against attempting it. There is another reason, too, why I should not get so far. You may have to carry me as it is, mon vieux. I am as lame as a duck. If we should chance to meet a patrol, you must run for it, and leave me to take my chance. Do you hear?" The Breton turned a stolid face on him. "Yes, I hear. But I am not good at running. Is Monsieur Augustin ready?" "As ready as he is ever like to be. Where are you taking me?" "To a fisherman's cottage just outside Porhoët. There is no one there but a woman--Madame Rozel." "The fisherman's wife?" "His widow, some say," responded Grain d'Orge. And he then added the somewhat surprising information: "It is she who has acted as the agent of the late Monsieur Alexis here." "Really!" said La Vireville--not that he was particularly surprised at the choice of a woman for such a post. He put his hand on his follower's shoulder, and, with Grain d'Orge's arm round him, moved off towards the cliff path. (2) Not a gleam of light came from the solitarily-standing little cottage when at last they reached it, but after Grain d'Orge had knocked softly its door opened as though by magic. A whisper, and the Chouan turned to his disabled leader and helped him into the blackness within, past a figure of which only the glimmering coif could be guessed. The door was shut, and then, standing rather dazed in the dark, La Vireville heard the scrape of flint and steel. In another moment the occupant of the cottage had lit the lamp that stood ready on the table, and had turned towards the two men. The light, seeming by its suddenness more potent than it really was, showed to the émigré a woman of about thirty, of a face and figure extraordinarily unlike what he expected, just then, to see. "Welcome, Monsieur," she said in a low voice, and the purity of the accent, coming from under the wide peasant's cap, made La Vireville jump. He stammered out something, staring at her, and then he found that she was asking him if he would not eat.