“We must find a road,” said Stewart at last; “we can’t climb up and down those hills. And we must find out where we are. There is a certain risk, but we must take it. It is foolish to stumble forward blindly.”
“You are right,” his companion agreed, and when presently, far below them at the bottom of a valley, they saw a white road winding, they made their way down to it. Almost at once they came to a house, in whose door stood a buxom, fair-haired woman, with a child clinging to her skirts.
The woman watched them curiously as they approached, and her face seemed to Stewart distinctly friendly.
“Good-morning,” he said, stopping before the door-step and lifting his hat—an unaccustomed salutation at which the woman stared. “We seem to have lost our way. Can you tell us——”
The woman shook her head.
“My brother and I have lost our way,” said his companion, in rapid French. “We have been tramping the hills all morning. How far is it to the nearest village?”
“The nearest village is Battice,” answered the woman in the same language. “It is three kilometers from here.”
“Has it a railway station?”
“But certainly. How is it you do not know?”
“We come from the other direction.”