"With them?" repeated Diane astonished.
The postilion winked.
"Why, yes, with them."
"Whom do you mean?"
"The friends, of course. They are here to the right and left of the road," and he imitated the hoot of a screech-owl.
"No," replied Diane, "go on; but when you have reached the foot of the hill stop."
"Bah!" muttered the postilion to himself, "you will stop all right enough, little mother."
They were then at the summit of a hill which sloped gently down for more than a mile and a half. Both sides of the road were lined with a thick growth of furze and thorn, which was in places dense enough to conceal three or four men.
The postilion started the horses at the usual pace, and drove down, singing an old Breton song in the Karnac dialect.
From time to time he elevated his voice, as if his song were a signal which the people along the side of the road understood. Diane, who knew that she was surrounded with Chouans, used her eyes to good advantage without uttering a word. This postilion might be a spy, whom Goulin had set to watch her, and she had not forgotten his threat should she give him any advantage over her, or fall into his hands again. Just as they reached the foot of the hill, where a little path crossed the road, a man on horseback sprang out of the woods to stop the carriage: but when he saw that its only occupant was a lady, he raised his hat.