“Where are you going beyond Cheylard?” he asked by way of answer.

“That is no affair of yours,” I returned, for I was not going to indulge his bestial curiosity; “it changes nothing in my present predicament.”

“ C’est vrai, ça ,” he acknowledged, with a laugh; “ oui, c’est vrai. Et d’où venez-vous? ”

A better man than I might have felt nettled.

“Oh,” said I, “I am not going to answer any of your questions, so you may spare yourself the trouble of putting them. I am late enough already; I want help. If you will not guide me yourself, at least help me to find someone else who will.”

“Hold on,” he cried suddenly. “Was it not you who passed in the meadow while it was still day?”