It was not Fouzilhic, but Fouzilhac, a hamlet
little distant from the other in space, but worlds away in the spirit of
its inhabitants. I tied Modestine to a gate, and groped forward,
stumbling among rocks, plunging mid-leg in bog, until I gained the
entrance of the village. In the first lighted house there was a woman
who would not open to me. She could do nothing, she cried to me through
the door, being alone and lame; but if I would apply at the next house,
there was a man who could help me if he had a mind.
They came to the next door in force, a man, two women, and a girl, and
brought a pair of lanterns to examine the wayfarer. The man was not ill-
looking, but had a shifty smile. He leaned against the doorpost, and
heard me state my case. All I asked was a guide as far as Cheylard.
'C'est que, voyez-vous, il fait noir,' said he.
I told him that was just my reason for requiring help.
'I understand that,' said he, looking uncomfortable; 'mais - c'est - de la
peine.'
I was willing to pay, I said. He shook his head. I rose as high as ten
francs; but he continued to shake his head.
