But Jacques was there, thought he, waiting at the fork of the roads.

Yes, Jacques had been there, but he had been there for over six hours of a winter's night, in five degrees of cold.

Had he the courage to stand six hours in the snow and kick his soles against a tree?
Thinking thus, Michel took a short cut through the streets and lanes, running at full speed; but horse and rider, in spite of his haste, had gone faster than he.

He reached the fork of the roads.

All was silent and solitary.