'Oh, you cruel thing! What did you want to kill the poor young creatures for? And then to boast of it!—But no, not a viper. A lady.'
'A lady?'
'Yes—a real lady; she wore gloves. She was riding. I hope you won't think I'm asking impertinent questions, but I wonder if you can tell me who she is.'
'A lady riding in the Sentier des Contrebandiers?' André repeated incredulously.
'She looked like one. Of course I may have been deceived. I didn't hear her speak. Do you think she was a cook?'
'I didn't know any one ever rode in the Sentier des Contrebandiers.'
'Oh, for that, I give you my word of honour. A lady—or say a female—in a black riding-habit; dark hair and eyes; very pale, with red lips and things. Oh, I'm not trying to impose upon you. It was about half a mile this side of where the path skirts the road.'
'You might stop in the Sentier des Contrebandiers from January to December and not meet a soul,' said André.
'Ah, I see. There's no convincing you. Sceptic! And yet, twenty years ago, you'd have been pretty sure to meet a certain couple of small boys there, wouldn't you?'
'Si fait,' assented André. 'We went there a good deal. But we were privileged. The only boys in this country now are peasants' children, and they have no leisure for wandering in the wood. When they're not at school, they're working in the fields. As for their elders, the path is rough and circuitous; the high road's smoother and shorter, no matter where you're bound. Since our time, I doubt if twenty people have passed that way.'