Yes, Beautrelet. Gaffer Charel was unable to speak. Very well.
But, at least, one could find out which fair the old man had visited
and which was the logical road that he had taken to return by. And,
along this road, perhaps it would at last be possible to find--

Isidore, as it was, had been careful not to visit Gaffer Charel's hovel
except with the greatest precautions and in such a way as not to give
an alarm. He now decided not to go back to it. He made inquiries and
learnt that Friday was market-day at Fresselines, a fair-sized town
situated a few leagues off, which could be reached either by the rather
winding highroad or by a series of short cuts.

On the Friday, he chose the road and saw nothing that attracted his
attention, no high walled enclosure, no semblance of an old castle.

He lunched at an inn at Fresselines and was on the point of leaving
when he saw Gaffer Charel arrive and cross the square, wheeling his
little knife-grinding barrow before him. He at once followed him at a
good distance.

The old man made two interminable waits, during which he ground dozens
of knives. Then, at last, he went away by a quite different road, which
ran in the direction of Crozant and the market-town of Eguzon.

Beautrelet followed him along this road. But he had not walked five
minutes before he received the impression that he was not alone in
shadowing the old fellow. A man was walking along between them,
stopping at the same time as Charel and starting off again when he did,
without, for that matter, taking any great precautions against being
seen.

"He is being watched," thought Beautrelet. "Perhaps they want to know
if he stops in front of the walls--"

His heart beat violently. The event was at hand.

The three of them, one behind the other, climbed up and down the steep
slopes of the country and arrived at Crozant, famed for the colossal
ruins of its castle. There Charel made a halt of an hour's duration.
Next he went down to the riverside and crossed the bridge.

But then a thing happened that took Beautrelet by surprise. The other
man did not cross the river. He watched the old fellow move away and,
when he had lost sight of him, turned down a path that took him right
across the fields.

Beautrelet hesitated for a few seconds as to what course to take, and
then quietly decided. He set off in pursuit of the man.

"He has made sure," he thought, "that Gaffer Charel has gone straight
ahead. That is all