the air, tested the iron and bent the wood.

"Is this," he demanded, "the instrument with which the assault was
committed? Jerome, are you sure it is?"

"They say so, Monsieur."

"You were not present, Monsieur le commissaire?"

"No, Monsieur le juge de paix."

"I would like to know whether the blows were really dealt with a rake or
whether they were given with a blunt instrument. Who is the assailant?
And did the rake belong to him or to some one else? Was it really with
this that these women were hurt? Or was it, I repeat, with a blunt
instrument? Do they wish to lodge a complaint? What do you think about
it, Monsieur le commissaire?"

The victims said little, remarking only that they suffered great pain;
so they were given over night to decide whether or not they wished to
seek redress by law. The young girl could hardly speak, and the old
woman's ideas were muddled, seeing that she was drunk, according to what
the neighbours intimated,--a fact which explained her insensibility when
we had endeavoured to relieve her suffering.

After they had looked at us as keenly as they could in order to
ascertain who we were, the authorities of Pont-l'Abbe bade us good night
and thanked us for the services we had rendered the community. We put
our things back into our satchel, and the _commissaire_ departed with
the _garde_, the _garde_ with his sword, and the justice of the peace
with the rake.

CHAPTER VIII.

ROAMING.

En route! the sky is blue, the sun is shining, and our feet are eager to
tread on the grass. From Crozon to Leudevenec the country is quite flat,
and there is not a house nor a tree to be seen. As far as the eye can
reach, reddish moss spreads over the ground. Sometimes fields of ripe
wheat rise above the little stunted sea-rushes. The latter are
flowerless now, and look as they did before the springtime. Deep
wagon-tracks, edged by rolls of dried mud, make their appearance and
continue for a long time; then they suddenly describe a bend and are lost
to the eye. Grass grows in large patches between these sunken furrows.
The wind whistles over the flats; we walk on; a welcome breeze dries
the beads of perspiration on our cheeks, and when we halted we were able
to hear, above the sound of our beating arteries, the rustling of the
wind in the grass.

From time to time, a mill with rapidly revolving wheels would rise up
and point the way. The creaking wooden fans descended, grazed the ground
an