At the last moment it occurred to me to try upon him the shibboleth which in Father Cotton’s mouth had so mystified me.

“This fire burns brightly,” I said, kicking the logs together with my riding-boot.  “It must be of boxwood.”

“Of what, sir?” quoth he, politely.

“Of boxwood, to be sure,” I replied, in a louder tone.

“My certes!” he exclaimed.  “They do not burn boxwood in this country.  Those are larch trimmings—­neither more nor less!”

While he wondered at my ignorance, I was pleased to discover his, and so far I had lost my pains.  But it did not escape me that the three gamesters had ceased to play and were listening intently to our conversation.  Moreover, as I moved to the door, they followed me with their eyes; and when I turned, after riding a hundred yards, I found that they had come to the door and were still gazing after us.

This prevented me at once remarking that a hound which had which had been lying before the fire had accompanied us, and was now running in front, now gambolling round us, as the manner of dogs is.  When, however, after riding about two thirds of a league, we came to a place where the roads forked, I had occasion particularly to notice the hound, for, choosing one of the paths, it stood in the mouth of it, wagging its tail, and inviting us to take that road; and this so pertinaciously that, though the directions we had received at the inn would have led us to prefer the other, we determined to follow the dog as the more trustworthy guide.

We had proceeded about four hundred paces when La Trape pointed out that the path was growing more narrow and showed few signs of being used.  So certain did it seem—­though the dog still ran confidently ahead—­that we were again astray, that I was about to draw rein and return, when I discovered with some emotion that the undergrowth on the right of the path had assumed the character of a thick hedge of box.  Though less prone than most men to put faith in omens, I accepted this as one, and, notwithstanding that it wanted but an hour of sunset, I rode on steadily, remarking that, with each turn in the woodland path, the scrub on my left also gave place to the sturdy tree which had been in my mind all day.  Finally we found ourselves passing through an alley of box,—­which, no long time before, had been clipped and dressed,—­until a final turn brought me into a cul-de-sac, a kind of arbor, carpeted with grass, and so thickly set about as to afford no exit save by the entrance.  Here the dog placidly stood and wagged its tail, looking up at us.