There was no choice for him; he must tramp as far as Chavagne, find a bed there, and leave to-morrow until it dawned.  On the resolve he set his face in the direction whence he had come.  But again he paused.  Chavagne lay on the road to Rennes.  To go that way was to plunge further into danger.  He would strike south again.  At the foot of some meadows on this side of the village there was a ferry that would put him across the river.  Thus he would avoid the village; and by placing the river between himself and the immediate danger, he would obtain an added sense of security.

A lane, turning out of the highroad, a quarter of a mile this side of Gavrillac, led down to that ferry.  By this lane some twenty minutes later came Andre-Louis with dragging feet.  He avoided the little cottage of the ferryman, whose window was alight, and in the dark crept down to the boat, intending if possible to put himself across.  He felt for the chain by which the boat was moored, and ran his fingers along this to the point where it was fastened.  Here to his dismay he found a padlock.

He stood up in the gloom and laughed silently.  Of course he might have known it.  The ferry was the property of M. de La Tour d’Azyr, and not likely to be left unfastened so that poor devils might cheat him of seigneurial dues.

There being no possible alternative, he walked back to the cottage, and rapped on the door.  When it opened, he stood well back, and aside, out of the shaft of light that issued thence.

“Ferry!” he rapped out, laconically.

The ferryman, a burly scoundrel well known to him, turned aside to pick up a lantern, and came forth as he was bidden.  As he stepped from the little porch, he levelled the lantern so that its light fell on the face of this traveller.

“My God!” he ejaculated.

“You realize, I see, that I am pressed,” said Andre-Louis, his eyes on the fellow’s startled countenance.

“And well you may be with the gallows waiting for you at Rennes,” growled the ferryman.  “Since you’ve been so foolish as to come back to Gavrillac, you had better go again as quickly as you can.  I will say nothing of having seen you.”

“I thank you, Fresnel.  Your advice accords with my intention.  That is why I need the boat.”

“Ah, that, no,” said Fresnel, with determination.  “I’ll hold my peace, but it’s as much as my skin is worth to help you.

“You need not have seen my face.  Forget that you have seen it.”

“I’ll do that, monsieur.  But that is all I will do.  I cannot put you across the river.”

“Then give me the key of the boat, and I will put myself across.”

“That is the same thing.  I cannot.  I’ll hold my tongue, but I will not — I dare not — help you.”

Andre-Louis looked a moment into that sullen, resolute face, and understood.  This man, living under the shadow of La Tour d’Azyr, dared exercise no will that might be in conflict with the will of his dread lord.