Tignonville was about to reply when the preacher grasped his arm and by a
sign enjoined silence. He did so not a moment too soon. Preoccupied by
the story, narrator and listener had paid no heed to what was passing in
the lane, and the voices of men speaking close at hand took them by
surprise. From the first words which reached them, it was clear that the
speakers were the same who had chased La Tribe as far as the meeting of
the four ways, and, losing him there, had spent the morning in other
business. Now they had returned to hunt him down; and but for a wrangle
which arose among them and detained them, they had stolen on their quarry
before their coming was suspected.

"'Twas this way he ran!" "No, 'twas the other!" they contended; and
their words, winged with vile threats and oaths, grew noisy and hot. The
two listeners dared scarcely to breathe. The danger was so near, it was
so certain that if the men came three paces farther, they would observe
and search the haycart, that Tignonville fancied the steel already at his
throat. He felt the hay rustle under his slightest movement, and gripped
one hand with the other to restrain the tremor of overpowering
excitement. Yet when he glanced at the minister he found him unmoved, a
smile on his face. And M. de Tignonville could have cursed him for his
folly.

For the men were coming on! An instant, and they perceived the cart, and
the ruffian who had advised this route pounced on it in triumph.

"There! Did I not say so?" he cried. "He is curled up in that hay, for
the Satan's grub he is! That is where he is, see you!"

"Maybe," another answered grudgingly, as they gathered before it. "And
maybe not, Simon!"