The driver, himself in a thoroughly foul humor by now, did as he was bid, and in a few moments Trehearne found himself in a three-room house of crumbling stone, the walls blackened with smoke and age. A meagre fire burned on the hearth, and two home-made candles furnished all the light.
It was enough to show Trehearne's face.
Oddly enough, the squat, hard-handed peasant who was master of the house showed neither fear nor hatred. Nor was he surprised. A certain slyness crept into his sullen expression, but that was all.
"You shall have the best bed, Monsieur," he said, in vile French and pointed to a gigantic carved lit-clos. "I have also one good horse. The others have gone ahead into the landes. You will wish to overtake them."
Trehearne tried to conceal his excitement. "Monsieur Kerrel and Mademoiselle Shairn?"
The peasant shrugged. "You know better than I what their names might be. I am not a curious man. I enjoy good health, and am content."
He called sharply in the Breton tongue, and a woman came to prepare food. She had a heavy, stupid face. She glanced once, sidelong, at Trehearne and after that was careful neither to look at nor speak to him. As soon as the simple meal was on the table, she hid herself in the adjoining room.
The ancient crone who sat knitting by the fire was not so cowed. As though age had placed her above necessity, she kept her bright little eyes fixed upon Trehearne with a mixture of hostility and interest.
"What are you thinking, ma vielle?" he asked her, smiling.
She answered, in French that was almost unintelligible to him, "I am thinking, Monsieur, that Keregnac is greatly honored by the Devil!"