“You told me that you were well acquainted with the roads!”

“I know them, and I do not know them.  When it comes to these crossroads, one is sure of nothing.  They change every year, and each new superintendent cuts a way out through the woods according to his fancy.  The devil himself could not find his way.”

“Yet you have been to Vivey before?”

“Oh, yes; five or six years ago; I used often to take parties of hunters to the chateau.  Ah!  Monsieur, what a beautiful country it is for hunting; you can not take twenty steps along a trench without seeing a stag or a deer.”

“You have doubtless had the opportunity of meeting Monsieur Odouart de Buxieres?”

“Yes, indeed, Monsieur, more than once-ah! he is a jolly fellow and a fine man—­”

“He was,” interrupted Julien, gravely, “for he is dead.”

“Ah! excuse me—­I did not know it.  What! is he really dead?  So fine a man!  What we must all come to.  Careful, now!” added he, pulling in the reins, “we are leaving the highroad, and must keep our eyes open.”

The twilight was already deepening, the driver lighted his lantern, and the vehicle turned into a narrow lane, half mud, half stone, and hedged in on both sides with wet brushwood, which flapped noisily against the leathern hood.  After fifteen minutes’ riding, the paths opened upon a pasture, dotted here and there with juniper bushes, and thence divided into three lines, along which ran the deep track of wagons, cutting the pasturage into small hillocks.  After long hesitation, the man cracked his whip and took the right-hand path.

Julien began to fear that the fellow had boasted too much when he declared that he knew the best way.  The ruts became deeper and deeper; the road was descending into a hole; suddenly, the wheels became embedded up to the hub in thick, sticky mire, and the horse refused to move.  The driver jumped to the ground, swearing furiously; then he called Julien to help him to lift out the wheel.  But the young man, slender and frail as he was, and not accustomed to using his muscles, was not able to render much assistance.

“Thunder and lightning!” cried the driver, “it is impossible to get out of this—­let go the wheel, Monsieur, you have no more strength than a chicken, and, besides, you don’t know how to go about it.  What a devil of a road!  But we can’t spend the night here!”

“If we were to call out,” suggested Julien, somewhat mortified at the inefficiency of his assistance, “some one would perhaps come to our aid.”

They accordingly shouted with desperation; and after five or six minutes, a voice hailed back.  A woodcutter, from one of the neighboring clearings, had heard the call, and was running toward them.

“This way!” cried the guide, “we are stuck fast in the mud.  Give us a lift.”

The man came up and walked round the vehicle, shaking his head.

“You’ve got on to a blind road,” said he, “and you’ll have trouble in getting out of it, seeing as how there’s not light to go by.  You had better unharness the horse, and wait for daylight, if you want to get your carriage out.”