I made my way through it for some distance before venturing into the open; then, under shelter of a hedge, I hastened down the slope, gained the road and turned my face toward the village. Ten minutes brought me to it--a straggle of sordid houses along each side the road teeming with dirty children and with a slatternly woman leaning in every doorway. There was an inn at either end to catch the traveller going east or west and I entered the first I came to and asked for breakfast. It was served by a pert and not uncomely maid,--bacon, eggs and creamy biscuits,--and I fell to it with an appetite tempered only by the thought that I must eat alone. There was at the time no other guest, and as the maid seemed very willing to talk, I determined to turn her to account. “These are delicious biscuits,” I began. “I have tasted none so good since I started on this journey.” She dropped me a curtesy, flushing with pleasure. “Have you come a long journey, monsieur?” she asked. “What!” I cried. “You still say ‘monsieur’! Is it a royalist then with whom I have to deal,--a _ci-devant_,--an aristocrat?” “A royalist?” she repeated, visibly horrified. “Oh, no; but the habit is an old one.” “Yes,” I admitted, “old habits are hard to break; even my tongue slips sometimes.” “Besides,” she added, looking at me steadily, “there was about you something which made me hesitate to call you citizen.” It was my time to flush. I found myself unable to meet her clear eyes and covered my confusion clumsily by a laugh which even I perceived did not ring true. If my disguise was so easily penetrated it was time I was getting back to my hiding-place. “Nonsense!” I retorted. “It is proper to say citizen to any one. And, by the way, citizen, what is the name of this village?” “What, you don’t know!” she cried. “Is that wonderful? It hardly seemed to me a second Paris.” “Yet you come to it!” “I pass through it because it happens to be in my way; I stop for breakfast--I would wish to stop longer,” I added with an expressive glance, “but the Nation needs me.” “Needs you?” “As she needs every man she can get to stamp out those cursed rebels in Vendée.” “Oh, so it is there you go?” she said, her face clearing. “Yes--you are right. My father went yesterday to join the Blues; our guard marched last night. There is scarcely a man left in the village.” “And now perhaps you will tell me its name,” I suggested. “It is called Dairon.” “And where is the nearest Republican force?” “There is a small one at Airvault and another at Moncontour; but if it is fighting you are looking for, citizen, you will press on to Thouars.” “How far is Thouars?” “Four leagues, and this road will lead you there.” “Then it is this road I will take. So there is to be fighting at Thouars?”