"I can go with you until we come into the country of the Abbot of Chalonnes," he said suddenly. "After that it will be for you to shift for yourself."
"Scrivener," said I, "who is this Abbot of Chalonnes?"
"He's a strong man, Henri," came the answer. "A man to be feared."
"But what is his importance?" I demanded. "Has he an army? Does he rule a part of France? Or is he only a churchman?"
"No one knows--exactly," replied the scrivener cautiously. "He's as mysterious as a fox. He has power enough to move a mountain. He can break the most arrogant prince. He can tear his castle down about his ears. But his ways are dark and secret. He is seldom seen. He has no followers as far as I can learn, but somehow men are afraid to go against his will."
"That's uncertain, too," he explained. "----mostly in the valley of the Loire beyond the fortress of Angers."
The answer came quick and sudden. The scrivener sprang from the ground and looked circumspectly about. He put his hand to his ear as though he was listening to a sound and stood in utter silence for several minutes. At length he dropped his arm to his side and walked away.
"I thought it was some one moving about in the woods," he said. "It was only a deer or boar rustling the leaves."
If I hadn't been so tired I would have laughed in his face. I was enough at home in the woods to know that there had been no sound, not even of the tiniest bird. The truth of the matter was that I had put a question to him that he was loath to answer. He had been evasive before when I tried to pry him open and now he had made this pretext to avoid me once again. I let the matter drop, but the determination lingered that at the first opportunity I would corner him and drive my questioning further.
He wandered off to pick up some sticks and shreds of moss and dried grass. When he had his arm full, he returned and spread what he had gathered upon the ground. He took off his coat and laid it like a pillow under his head. Then, without a word or even a look at me, he lay down and curled himself into a knot. It was not long before he was breathing deeply and snoring like the croaking of a frog.
I was weary with the day's excitement. Perhaps the example of the scrivener set me to yawning. However it was, I was soon stretched out beside him asleep under the waving branches of the trees and the stars.