"And where are their haunts?"
"You might as well ask the birds of the air where they perch, the beasts of the wood where they lie down. Yesterday on the mountain, to-morrow in the woods, marching ten leagues during the night, hiding for days in succession in the nearest cave—the Bagauder knows not to-day where he will be to-morrow."
"It must, then, be a lucky accident that would make one run across them?"
"A lucky accident for good people, an unlucky one for counts, bishops or tax-collectors!"
"Was it in Anjou that you met that troop of Bagauders?"
"Yes, in Anjou—in a forest about eight leagues from Angers, whither I was then bound—"
"Do you notice my pet Karadeucq? Look at him! See how his eyes sparkle and his cheeks burn. Truly, if he does not dream of little Korrigans to-night, he will surely dream of Bagauders. Am I wrong, my lad?"
"Grandfather, what I say is that the Bretons and the Bagauders are and will be the very last Gauls. Were I not a Breton I would indeed run the Bagaudy against the Franks and the bishops."
"And it is my opinion, my grandson, that you will surely run it to-night with your head upon your pillow. I wish you pleasant dreams of the Bagaudy, my pet. Now go to bed, it is late; you are making your mother feel unnecessarily uneasy."