Outside the wall he crossed the road, climbed the hedge stile and struck across a field of stubble.
Over the darker eastern hills a wet sky lowered; the Récollette ran black under its ghostly cerements of vapor; lapwings were calling somewhere from the foggy sky, and their mournful and faint complaint seemed to harmonize sadly with the vague grey world around him.
A trodden path twisted through the grass down to the reedy shore where the punt lay. Peering about for it, his foot struck the pole, where it lay partly buried in the weeds; he picked it up and went down among the rushes. But until he laid his hand on the boat he did not notice the man asleep there. And not until the man sat up with a frightful yawn, rubbing his sleep-swollen lids, did he recognize Asticot.
"What the devil——" he began, but Asticot stumbled to his large, flat feet with a suppressed yelp of apprehension, as Warner's dreaded grasp fell on his collar.
"Mon Dieu," moaned the young ruffian, "may I not even sleep without offending M'sieu'——"
Warner shook him, not roughly.
"Now answer me once and for all! Why are you hanging around Saïs?"
The tiny, mousy eyes of Asticot became fixed; a grin of terror stiffened the pasty features.
"Why do I still find you in Saïs?" repeated Warner. "Tell me the truth!"
"I—I am too f-frightened to tell you——"