Perhaps Jacquot's father had unfolded to
them my little history, and the object of my
journey; for I had remarked him earnest in
conversation with certain of the crowd,
gesticulating in a manner foreign to his nature,
and pointing to the road behind, now across
the river. At all events, an old man in a
blouse made his way to me, and, touching
his hat, asked if Monsieur was resolved to go
forward that night, at all hazards. In the
face of all risks, I said, nervously—why did
he ask ? Simply because, some six miles or
so off, there was a ferry—used to be, that is,
for it had been given up since the new
bridge—with a boat drawn up under a shed.
It had escaped, most likely. There the river
was narrower, and for a good sack of money
old Clou the ferryman might take me across.

From behind the torches voices of
encouragement. "Aye! the very thing! Old
Clou will take Monsieur, but he must have
gold; and the Tigresse—Monsieur must not
mind them if they swear and spit at him at
first—let him clink the gold toujours! Let
Monsieur be sure to take a couple of
shovels!"

"Did he know the way?"

Jacquot's father did; confessing, with a
stupid bewilderment, that thought of Clou
had never entered his head.

"Come along," he said, in his droning
tone. A short respite at the inn for
administering to the fleet mare a certain mash
compounded by Jacquot's father's own hand;
and we were off. Drawing new life and
vigour from the cunning mash, the fleet
mare started afresh by a flank road
overhanging the river's side the whole way.
All along that road we could hear the
stream surging and roaring below, striving,
as it were, with the fleet mare who should
reach the ferry-house first; through a thick
jungle most of the way; through mud and
stones, knee-deep, the whole way; through
sluices where the road had given and been
washed down into the river, where a scoop
had been bitten out as it were, where
Jacqnot's father had to get down and
carefully lead round the fleet mare; through
places where the bank had fallen in a great
heap and completely stopped the road, forcing
us to work wearily with the two shovels so
thoughtfully supplied to us. At length the
road began to slope steadily to the river's
edge, the trees to crowd more thickly, and
the fleet mare to slacken her pace, when,
through a dense net-work of branches—a
crowded tree-rigging, as it were—stood out
the shape of a heavy log-tower, quite square,
and hanging over to one side, with a strange
tumble-down effect. Light, air, and the view
of heaven were shut out by the choking
tangle of trees and rank vegetation that
wound round and round again that log-
house; while, within reach of our hand, we
could hear the flood tumbling by, like an
avalanche.

Jacquot's father got down and got through
the branches to the door with much toil. It
had been painted red, and still preserved a
dull, smurched tint of that colour. Many of
the logs gaped, and the huge upper storeys
hung over the lower like scowling eyebrows.
It overhung the river a little, on a sort of
stone pier; and, at one side, was a decayed
shed, with the roof stripped off; where, no
doubt, lay the ferry-boat. Altogether, a
stagnant, unwholesome, heart-crushing place.

Jacquot's father took a heavy stone and
banged at the door, long and loud; but without
any avail. I took up another stone
and hammered with him; then, stepping
back, looked up through the tree-rigging at
the house. A flash of light came suddenly
through a high chink, and there were sounds
of bolts undoing. Said a voice high up—and
a voice of snarling, miawling tone, such as
comes from a cat gathered up in a corner
with arched back and flashing eyes—"Get
away!" Get you gone, robbers! I have
boiling water here, and boiling pitch, of which
you shall have mouthfuls, if you are not gone
in two seconds."

"It is the Tigresse," said Jacquot's father,
in a low voice, "let us go, as she bids us."

"Are you gone?" croaked another voice,
in a feeble cackle, from behind the first.
"We have guns up here, we have—Ki-ki!—
and the pitch! by the lord! and the dog,
Ki-Ki! At them! tear them! down to them,
sweet fellow!"

Then came a deep, solemn growl, and
sounds of tramping down steps. They were
coming, it was plain.

"Speak to them, Monsieur, quickly," said
Jacquot's father, trembling.

"We are travellers," I said, in a loud
voice, "and wish to be taken across the
river."

First voice hooted devilishly—it was
laughter.

"Ki-Ki, Clou! let him down, sweet soul!"

"But you shall have money—gold."

"Gold? Then, stop! Ki-Ki! Hold him!
The monsieur will pay."

The bolt suddenly shot back, and a great
white dog, shaggy as a mountain pony, and
with two red-hot coals for eyes, bounded
out with a spring like a flash of light.
Behind him, with another spring, came a
strange white-haired object, which, casting a
horn-lantern behind it, flew at the throat of
the white dog, and, winding its arms round
it, threw it over, and finally dragged it in
again. Then taking up her lantern—for it
looked most like a woman having an old
blue blanket round her—she stood in the
doorway confronting us. "Now," she said,
"what of that gold?"

She was a horrid apparition. No teeth;
no skin, only creased leather; no arms, only
fleshless bones. On her head, an old fur cap.

"Now," she said again, "what about the
gold?"