ner; and
the cousins already disliked each other, not yet knowing why.

"Are my family well? Do they expect me?" said Georges de Sainfoy.

"I believe they are very well. I do not know if they expect you,"
Angelot answered.

"Is it true that this is not the road to Lancilly?"

D'Ombre growled something about military insolence, and Monsieur des
Barres laughed.

"Pardon, gentlemen," said De Sainfoy. "I am impatient, I know. A soldier
on his way home does not expect to be stopped by etiquettes about
passing on the road. My cousin knows the country; I appeal to him, as
one of you did just now. Is this the way to Lancilly, or not?"

Angelot laughed. "Yes--and no," he said.

"What do you mean by that? Come, I am in no humour for joking."

Angelot looked at him and shrugged his shoulders.

"It is _a_ road, but not _the_ road," he said. "No one in his senses
would drive this way to Lancilly. This part of it is bad enough; further
on, where it goes down into the valley, it is much worse; I doubt if a
heavy carriage could pass. You turned to the right too soon. Martin
Joubard forgot this lane, perhaps. He would hardly have directed you
this way--unless--"

"Unless what?"

"Unless he wished to show you the nature of the country, in case you
should think of invading it in force."

The two Chouans laughed.

"Well said, Angelot!" muttered Cesar d'Ombre.

Georges de Sainfoy, stiff and haughty, did not trouble himself about any
jest or earnest concealed under his cousin's speech and the way the
neighbours took it. He realised, perhaps, that in this wild west country
the name of Napoleon was not altogether one to conjure with, that he had
not left the enemies of the Empire behind him in Spain. But he realised,
too, that this was hardly the place or the time to assert his own
importance and his master's authority.

"Do you mean that this road is utterly impassable?" he said to Angelot.
"How then did these gentlemen--"

"They did not come from Lancilly. They drove across the moor from my
uncle's house, Les Chouettes, and turned into the lane a few hundred
yards higher up. As to impassable--I think your wheels will come off, if
you attempt it, and your horses' knees will suffer. Where the ruts are
not two feet deep, the bare rock is almost perpendicular."

"Still it is not impassable?"

"Not in a case of necessity. But you will not attempt it."

"And why not?"

"Because on this hill Monsieur des Barres and Monsieu