“I suppose so, monsieur. But they can’t be far. I told Joos——”
“Jan, is that you?” cried Léontine’s voice.
“Ah, Dieu merci! These infernal trees——”
“Silence now!” growled Dalroy imperatively. “Go ahead as quickly as possible.”
The semblance of a path existed; even so, they stumbled over gnarled roots, collided with tree-trunks which stood directly in the way, and had to fend many a low branch off their faces. They created an appalling noise; but were favoured by the fact that the footpath led to the west, whereas the pursuers must climb the cliff on the east.
Léontine, however, led them with the quiet certainty of a country-born girl moving in a familiar environment. She could guess to a yard just where the track was diverted by some huge-limbed elm or far-spreading chestnut, and invariably picked up the right line again, for the excellent reason, no doubt, that the dense undergrowth stood breast high elsewhere at that season of the year.
After a walk that seemed much longer than it really was—the radius of the wood from the hut being never more than two hundred yards in any direction—the others heard her say anxiously, “Are you there, father?”
“Where the deuce do you think I’d be?” came the irritated demand. “Do you imagine that your mother and I are skipping down these rocks like a couple of weasels?”
“It is quite safe,” said the girl. “I and Marie Lafarge went down only last Thursday. Jules always goes that way to Argenteau. He has cut steps in the bad places. Jan and I will lead. We can help mother and you.”