"Monseigneur, I am sure of it. There is a stone that turns."
"Oh, yes! You peasants believe in turning-stones, in singing-stones, and in stones that go by night down to a neighboring brook to drink. A pack of idle tales!"
"But when I turned the stone myself—"
"Yes, just as others have heard it sing. My friend, the Tourgue is a Bastille, safe and strong, and easily defended; but he would be a simpleton indeed who depended for escape on a subterranean passage."
"But, monseigneur—"
The old man shrugged his shoulders,—
"Let us waste no more time, but speak of business."
This peremptory tone checked Halmalo's persistence.
The old man resumed:—
"Let us go on. Listen. From Rougefeu you are to go into the wood of Montchevrier, where you will find Bénédicité, the leader of the Twelve. He is another good man. He recites his Bénédicite while he has people shot. There is no room for sensibility in warfare. From Montchevrier you will go—"