"You are not from this part of the country," the peasant, who was speaking in the patois of Normandy, remarked.
"No, we come from the south; but one of our comrades comes from Cherbourg and, as he cannot get away, we are going to see his friends and tell them that he is well. It is a holiday for us, and we may as well go there as anywhere else."
The explanation was simple enough for the peasant, and Terence continued chatting with him until they landed.
"You do not need to go through Avranches," the latter said. "Take the road by the coast through Granville to Coutances."
"How far is it to Coutances?"
"About twenty miles. At least, so I have heard, for I have never been there."
After walking a few miles, they went down on to the seashore and lay down among some rocks until evening. At eight o'clock they started again and walked boldly through Granville, where their sailor's dress would, they felt sure, attract no attention. It was about nine o'clock when they entered the place. Their reason for doing so at this hour was that they wished to lay in a stock of provisions, as they did not intend to enter Coutances until late at night; when they hoped to be able to get hold of a boat, at once. They had just made their purchases when they met a fat little man, with a red sash--which showed him to be the Maire of the place, or some other public functionary.
"Where are you going, and what ship do you belong to?" he asked pompously.
"We are sailors on our way from Saint Malo to Cherbourg," Terence replied.
"You have papers, of course?"