“I have not thanked you, Sir, as yet. Do, please, excuse such rudeness. I appreciate your generous kindness in going to so much trouble in my behalf. I am sure you have saved my life by coming to my rescue down that perilous cliff. Please accept my deepest thanks. I am Captain André Narcy, of the staff of Vice-Admiral de Fierce ...!”
I stopped, expecting that a name would be volunteered in exchange for mine. But the old man did not introduce himself, though he did listen to what I was saying with the closest attention. I began again:
“I was, I am, the bearer of a dispatch to the corporal on guard at the Grand Cap battery. It was in an effort to execute that mission, unfortunately still unperformed, that I lost my way, wandered aimlessly about for a time, and finally lay down here to sleep when I was quite all in. And now, Sir, might I impose upon your kindness further? Could you not direct me to the Grand Cap trail, the good one, the one I was looking for and could not manage to find myself?”
Meanwhile I was studying the old man carefully. There was nothing unusual about his dress. His clothes were, to a button approximately, those one might expect to find in such weather on a shepherd, a hunter, a wood-chopper of those mountain regions; heavy hobnailed shoes and thick leggings, corduroy trousers and coat, a plain flannel shirt. But it was just at this point that the contrast between his costume and the cultivated intonation of his language first impressed me. The observation caused me another thrill of fear. In my confusion I caught his reply but indistinctly:
“The good road, Monsieur? In truth, you are on the bad road, the worst road, I might even say!”
I suppressed my uneasiness as best I could:
“Where am I, exactly? Am I far from the battery?”
“Very, very far!”
“Well, but ... what do you call this place?”
“I doubt if it has a name! At any rate, you will not find it on your chart!”