I gave him an itinerary, though not exactly the one I meant to follow.
“I know all these places well,” observed my host. “But do you know you will have to be prudent. The authorities hereabouts are very vicious just now. They arrest every wayfarer they see. You must look out, my brother, or they will arrest you.”
“What would you advise me to do, then,” I asked, greatly alarmed at this news.
“I will tell you, brother; listen!”
And then he gave me very valuable information; described the villages through or near which I should have to pass, indicating at the same time those that were dangerous and the footpaths by which I might avoid them. He gave me the names and described the dwellings of the peasants with whom I might lodge, and, in a word, told me everything which it imported a wandering outlaw to know.
“But why,” I asked, “are the police so active just now? I thought this road was one of the safest for vagabonds in the whole country.”
“God knows. Perhaps they have found a body somewhere and are looking for the murderer.”
I made no remark, but I thought it was much more likely that they had discovered my flight and were looking for me. And so it proved.
After finishing the tea we talked a little longer, and as I took my leave I thanked my host warmly for his hospitality and information.
When I reached the last village before that at which lived my friend, I was quite overcome with fatigue, and faint with hunger and cold; but I counted on a long and quiet rest in the cottage of a peasant woman whose address had been given me by the friendly exile. It was at the extremity of the village, and to get thither I had to pass the headquarters of the communal authorities. In the light of the exile's warning, and my own fears, this seemed a sufficiently dangerous enterprise. Albeit I put on an air of indifference and took care not to increase my pace, yet I could not avoid an occasional backward glance to see if I was being followed. No one, however, seemed to notice me, and I reached my destination without receiving any unpleasant attentions. The peasant woman welcomed me kindly, if not very effusively. But she was a dear good soul, gave me of her best, and let me lie on a bench and pass the night in her house.