"In that case, take my arm, lean on me, and let us go."
Isaure obeyed without comment; she took the arm of her guide, who had hung the bundle on the end of his sword, and carried it thus over his shoulder. They went on again through the rocky paths; they went away from Ayda, and reached the chain of hills which connects those of Cantal and of Puy-de-Dôme; Isaure was forced to cling to her companion’s arm in order to keep on her feet in the steep and slippery paths. They walked in silence, but sometimes the vagabond asked Isaure:
"Are you tired? Would you like to rest awhile?"
"No, monsieur, I can go on," the girl would reply; and they would continue their journey.
At last the dawn succeeded the dark and rainy night; Isaure’s guide, who had always taken pains to avoid passing through villages or near inhabited houses, stopped with the girl on the slope of a mountain, looked about him and said:
"Let us rest here until we can see a little better; I do not think that I can be mistaken; we must be near the end of our journey. An hour more at most. But here is the daylight, and we must not go astray."
He sat down on the ground, and Isaure did the same, seating herself a few steps away. Depressed and dejected, she dropped her head upon her breast and did not utter a word. The vagabond looked at her a moment and then turned his face in another direction, saying:
"She is not in the mood for talking; I can understand that."
After a quarter of an hour, they could see to recognize the different roads. Isaure’s companion smiled and said:
"I was not mistaken. I know this country so well. I have travelled all over it so many times in my youth and also within the last few months—Come, my girl, forward; one league more, and you will be able to rest as long as you please."