“Then we must turn back.”
We turned. Now we faced the wind. It stung our faces like a lash. It seemed that my face was being scorched with a flame.
“We have to take a road leading from the cross-roads,” said my master feebly; “tell me when you see it.”
For a quarter of an hour we went on, struggling against the wind; in the doleful silence of the night the noise of our footsteps echoed on the dry, hard earth. Although scarcely able to put one foot before the other, it was I who dragged Vitalis. How anxiously I looked to the left! In the dark shadows I suddenly saw a little red light.
“See, there’s a light,” I said, pointing.
“Where?”
Vitalis looked; although the light was but a short distance off, he saw nothing. I knew then that his sight was going.
“What is that light to us?” he asked; “it is a lamp burning on the table of some worker, or it’s near the bed of a dying person. We cannot go and knock at those doors. Away in the country, during the night, you can ask hospitality, but so near Paris… we must not expect hospitality here. Come.”
A few steps more and I thought I could make out the cross-roads and a black mass which must be the trees. I let go of my master’s hand to go ahead quicker. There were deep ruts in the road.
“See, here are the ruts?” I cried.