M. des Graves looked at the pale, resolute face, and his eyes were full of compassion and understanding. “It shall be as you wish, my son,” he said quietly. “You have acted; there is no need of further words. . . . Ah, here is Louis. Louis, we are looking out the roads to Les Herbiers.”
“And I have got the wrong map,” said the Marquis, rolling it up. “Please bring me the bundle by the bookcase, Louis. Thank you. Now the distance: from here to Saint-Martin-des-Noyers— supposing that we go that way—six miles; from Saint-Martin to Les Quatre Chemins another six——”
“And from Les Quatre Chemins to Les Herbiers about the same,” finished Louis. “And after that?” He laughed gaily. “That lamp of yours is going out, Gilbert. However, it is nearly dawn already.”
CHAPTER XXXIX
THE FOUR ROADS
“On the road that goes northward the red foemen ride;
On the road that goes west, hark, the sob of the tide!
To the east a false comrade—to the southward . . . who knows?
And high up in heaven the black night-wind blows. . . .
But I’m for the saddle; one cup and we part,
Though all roads of the world hold a sword for my heart!”