w- ~ m 
 
 -
 
 THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES 
 
 GIFT OF 
 
 Mrs. Lawrence Zelkin
 
 THE COMEDY OF HUMAN LIFE 
 BY H. DE BALZAC 
 
 SCENES FROM MILITARY LIFE 
 
 THE CHOUANS 
 A PASSION IN THE DESERT
 
 BALZAC'S NOVELS. 
 
 Translated by Miss K. P. WORMELEY. 
 
 Alft'tirty Published: 
 PERE GORIOT. 
 DUCHESSE DE LANGEAIS. 
 RISE AND FALL OF CESAR BIROTTEAU. 
 EUGENIE GRANDET. 
 COUSIN PONS. 
 THE COUNTRY DOCTOR. 
 THE TWO BROTHERS. 
 
 THE ALKAHEST (La Recherche de 1'Absolu). 
 MODESTE MIGNON. 
 
 THE MAGIC SKIN (La Peau de Chagrin). 
 COUSIN BETTE. 
 LOUIS LAMBERT. 
 BUREAUCRACY (Les Employe's). 
 SERAPHITA. 
 
 SONS OF THE SOIL (Les Paysans). 
 FAME AND SORROW (Chat-qui-pelote). 
 THE LILY OF THE VALLEY, 
 URSULA. 
 
 AN HISTORICAL MYSTERY. 
 ALBERT SAVARUS. 
 BALZAC : A MEMOIR. 
 PIERRETTE. 
 THE CHOUANS. 
 LOST ILLUSIONS. 
 A GREAT MAN OF THE PROVINCES IN 
 
 PARIS. 
 
 THE BROTHERHOOD OF CONSOLATION. 
 THE VILLAGE RECTOR. 
 MEMOIRS OF TWO YOUNG MARRIED 
 
 WOMEN. 
 
 CATHERINE DE' MEDICI. 
 LUCIEN DE RUBEMPRE. 
 
 FERRAGUS, CHIEF OF THE DEVORANTS. 
 A START IN LIFE. 
 THE MARRIAGE CONTRACT. 
 BEATRIX. 
 
 A DAUGHTER OF EVE. 
 THE GALLERY OF ANTIQUITIES. 
 GOJiSECK. 
 
 THE LESSER BOURGEOISIE. 
 JUANA. 
 THE DEPUTY OF ARCIS. 
 
 ROBERTS BROTHERS, Publishers, Boston.
 
 HONORH DE BALZAC 
 
 TRANSLATED BY 
 
 KATHARINE PRESCOTT WORMELEY 
 
 THE CHOUANS 
 
 BRITTANY IN 1799 
 
 ROBERTS BROTHERS 
 
 3 SOMERSET STREET 
 
 BOSTON 
 
 1895
 
 Cofyright, 1895, 
 BY ROBERTS BROTHERS. 
 
 All rights reserved. 
 
 Jrmy WILSON AND SON, CAMBRIDGE, U.S.A.
 
 College 
 Library 
 
 VG 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 PACK 
 
 I. Ax AMBUSCADE 1 
 
 II. OXE OF FOUCHE'S IDEAS 71 
 
 III. A DAY WITHOUT A MORROW 210 
 
 PASSION IN THE DESERT 387
 
 THE CHOUANS. 
 
 To MONSIEUR THEODORE DABLIN, MERCHANT. 
 
 To my first friend, my first work. 
 
 DE BALZAC. 
 
 I. 
 
 AX AMBUSCADE. 
 
 EART.T in the year VIII., at the beginning of Vende"- 
 miaire, or, to conform to our own calendar, towards the 
 close of September, 1799, a hundred or so of peasants 
 and a large number of citizens, who had left Fougeres 
 in the morning on their way to Mayenne, were going 
 ui> tue little mountain of La Pelerine, half-way between 
 Fougeres and Ernee, a small town where travellers 
 along that road are in the habit of resting. This com- 
 
 O C? 
 
 pain*, divided into groups that were more or less nu- 
 merous, presented a collection of such fantastic costumes 
 and a mixture of individuals belonging to so many and 
 diverse localities and professions that it will be well 
 to describe their characteristic differences, in order to 
 give to this history the vivid local coloring to which so 
 much value is attached in these days, though some 
 critics do assert that it injures the representation of 
 sentiments. 
 
 Many of the peasants, in fact the greater number, 
 were barefooted, and wore no other garments than a 
 
 1
 
 2 The Chouans. 
 
 large goatskin, which covered them from the neck to the 
 knees, and trousers of white and very coarse linen, the 
 ill-woven texture of which betrayed the slovenly in- 
 dustrial habits of the region. The straight locks of their 
 long hair mingling with those of the goatskin hid their 
 faces, which were bent on the ground, so completely 
 that the garment might have been thought their own 
 skin, and they themselves mistaken at first sight for a 
 species of the animal which served them as clothing. 
 .But through this tangle of hair their eyes were presently 
 seen to shine like dew-drops in a thicket, and their 
 glances, full of human intelligence, caused fear rather 
 than pleasure to those who met them. Their heads 
 were covered with a dirt}- head-gear of red flannel, 
 not unlike the Phrygian cap which the Republic had 
 lately adopted as an emblem of liberty. Each man car- 
 ried over his .shoulder a heavy stick of knotted oak, at 
 the end of which hung a linen bag with little in it. 
 Some wore, over the red cap, a coarse felt hat, with 
 a broad brim adorned by a .sort of woollen chenille of 
 many colors which was fastened round it. Others 
 were clothed entirely in the, coarse linen of which the 
 trousers and wallets of all were made, and showed 
 nothing that was distinctive of the new order of civili- 
 zation. Their long hair fell upon the collar of a round 
 jacket with .square pockets, which reached to the hips 
 only, a garment peculiar to the peasantry of western 
 France. Beneath this jacket, which was worn open, a 
 wai>teoat of the same linen with large buttons was 
 visible. Some of the. companv marched in wooden 
 shoes ; others, by way of eeouomy. carried them iu 
 their hand. 1 his eo>tiime. Boiled bv long usaue, 
 blackened with ^weat and du>t. and less original than
 
 The Chouans. 3 
 
 that of the other men, had the historic merit of serving 
 as a transition between the goatskins and the brilliant, 
 almost sumptuous, dress of a few individuals dispersed 
 here and there among the groups, where they shone 
 like flowers. In fact, the blue linen trousers of these 
 last, and their red or yellow waistcoats, adorned with 
 two parallel rows of brass buttons and not unlike breast- 
 plates, stood out as vividly among the white linen and 
 shaggy skins of their companions as the corn flowers 
 and poppies in a wheat-field. Some of them wore wooden 
 shoes, which the peasants of Brittany make for them- 
 selves ; but the greater number had heavy hob-nailed 
 boots, and coats of coarse cloth cut in the fashion of the 
 old regime, the shape of which the peasants have re- 
 ligiously retained even to the present da} T . The collars 
 of their shirts were held together by buttons in the 
 shape of hearts or anchors. The wallets of these men 
 seemed to be better filled than those of their compan- 
 ions, and several of them added to their marching out- 
 fit a flask, probably full of brandy, slung round their 
 necks by a bit of twine. A few burgesses were to be 
 seen in the midst of these semi-savages, as if to show 
 the extremes of civilization in this region. Wearing 
 round hats, or flapping brims or caps, high-topped 
 boots, or shoes and gaiters, the}* exhibited as man}* 
 and as remarkable differences in their costume as the 
 peasants themselves. About a dozen of them wore the 
 republican jacket known by the name of "la car- 
 magnole." Others, well-to-do mechanics, no doubt, 
 were clothed from head to foot in cloth of one color. 
 Those who had most pretension in their dress wore 
 swallow-tail coats or surtouts of blue or green cloth, 
 more or less defaced. These last, evidently characters.
 
 4 The Chouans. 
 
 marched in boots of various kinds, swinging heavy 
 canes with the air and manner of those who take 
 heart under misfortune. A few heads carefully pow- 
 dered, and some queues tolerably well braided showed 
 the sort of care which a beginning of education or 
 prosperity inspires. A casual spectator observing 
 these men, all surprised to find themselves in one 
 another's company, would have thought them the in- 
 habitants of a village driven out by a conflagration. 
 But the period and the region in which the}- were gave 
 an altogether different interest to this body of men. 
 Any one initiated into the secrets of the civil discords 
 which were then agitating the whole of France could 
 easily have distinguished the few individuals on whose 
 fidelit}' the Republic might count among these groups, 
 almost entirely made up of men who four years earlier 
 were at war with her. 
 
 One other and rather noticeable sign left no doubt 
 upon the opinions which divided the detachment. The 
 Republicans alone marched with an air of gnyety. As 
 to the other individuals of the troop, if their clothes 
 showed marked differences, their faces at least and 
 and their attitudes wore a uniform expression of ill- 
 fortune. Citizens and peasantry, their faces all bore 
 the imprint of deepest melancholy ; their silence had 
 something sullen in it; they all seemed crushed under 
 the voke of a single thought, terrible no doubt but 
 carefully concealed, for their faces were impenetrable, 
 the slowness of their gait alone betraying their inward 
 communings. From time to lime a few of them, notice- 
 able for the rosaries hanging from their necks (dan- 
 gerous as it was to carry that sign of a religion which 
 was suppressed, rather than abolished; shook their long
 
 The Chouans. 5 
 
 hair and raised their heads defiantly. They covertly 
 examined the woods, and paths, and masses of rock 
 which flanked the road, after the manner of a dog with 
 his nose to the wind trying to scent his game ; then, 
 hearing nothing but the monotonous tramp of the silent 
 company, they lowered their heads once more with the 
 old expression of despair, like criminals on their way 
 to the galleys to live or die. 
 
 The march of this column upon Mayenne, the hetero- 
 geneous elements of which it was composed, and the 
 divers sentiments which evidently pervaded it, will ex- 
 plain the presence of another troop which formed the 
 head of the detachment. About a hundred and fifty 
 soldiers, with arms and baggage, marched in the 
 advance, commanded by the chief of a half-brigade. 
 We may mention here, for the benefit of those who did 
 not witness the drama of the Revolution, that this 
 title was made to supersede that of colonel, proscribed 
 by patriots as too aristocratic. These soldiers belonged 
 to a demi-brigade of infantry quartered at Mayenne. 
 During these troublous times the inhabitants of the 
 west of France called all the soldiers of the Republic 
 "Blues." This nickname came originally from their 
 blue and red uniforms, the memory of which is still so 
 fresh as to render a description superfluous. A detach- 
 ment of the Blues was therefore on this occasion es- 
 corting a body of recruits, or rather conscripts, all 
 displeased at being taken to Mayenne where military 
 discipline was about to force upon them the uniformity 
 of thought, clothing, and gait which they now lacked 
 entirely. 
 
 This column was a contingent slowly and with diffi- 
 culty raised in the district of Fougeres, from which it
 
 6 The C/touans. 
 
 was due under the levy ordered by the executive Direc- 
 tory of the Republic on the preceding 10th Messidor. 
 The government had asked for a hundred million of 
 francs and a hundred thousand men as immediate rein- 
 forcements for the armies then fighting the Austrians 
 in Italy, the Prussians in Germany, and menaced in 
 Switzerland by the Russians, in whom Suwarow had 
 inspired hopes of the conquest of France. The de- 
 partments of the West, known under the name of La 
 Vendee, Brittany, and a portion of Lower Normandy, 
 which had been tranquil for the last three years (thanks 
 to the action of General Hoc-he), after a struggle last- 
 ing nearly four, seemed to have seized this new occa- 
 sion of danger to the nation to break out again. In 
 presence of such aggressions the Republic recovered its 
 pristine energy. It provided in the first place for the 
 defence of the threatened departments by giving the 
 responsibility to the loyal and patriotic portion of the 
 inhabitants. In fact, the government in Paris, having 
 neither troops nor money to send to the interior, 
 evaded the difficulty by a parliamentary gasconade. 
 Not being able to send material aid to the faithful 
 citizens of the insurgent departments, it gave them its 
 " confidence." Possibly the government hoped that 
 this measure, by arming the inhabitants against each 
 other, would stifle the insurrection at its birth. This 
 ordinance, the cause of future fatal reprisals, was thus 
 worded: "Independent companies of troops shall 
 be organized in the Western departments." This im- 
 politic step drove the West as a body into so hostile an 
 attitude that the Directory despaired of immediately 
 subduing it. Consequently, it asked the Assemblies 
 to pass certain special measures relating to the hide-
 
 The Cluman*. 7 
 
 pendent companies authorized by the ordinance. In 
 response to this request a new law had been promul- 
 gated a few days before this history begins, organizing 
 into regular legions the various weak and scattered 
 companies. These legions were to bear the names of 
 the departments, Sarthe, Orne, Mayenne, Ille-et- 
 Vilaine, Morbihan, Loire-Inferieure, and Maine-et- 
 Loire. "These legions," said the law, "will be 
 specially employed to fight tiie Chouans, and cannot, 
 under any pretence, be sent to the frontier." 
 
 The foregoing irksome details will explain both the 
 weakness of the Directory and the movement of this 
 troop of men under escort of the Blues. It may 
 not be superfluous to add that these finely patriotic 
 Directorial decrees had no realization beyond their 
 insertion among the statutes. No longer restrained, 
 as formerly, by great moral ideas, by patriotism, nor 
 b}' terror, which enforced their execution, these later 
 decrees of the Republic created millions and drafted 
 soldiers without the slightest benefit accruing to its 
 exchequer or its armies. The mainspring of the Revo- 
 lution was worn-out by clumsy handling, and the appli- 
 cation of the laws took the impress of circumstances 
 instead of controlling them. 
 
 The departments of Mayenne and Ille-et-Vilnine 
 were at this time under the command of an old officer 
 who, judging on the spot of the measures that were 
 most opportune to take, was anxious to wring from 
 Brittany every one of her contingents, more especially 
 that of Fougeres. which -was known to be a hot-bed 
 of " Chouannerie." lie hoped by this means to weaken, 
 its strength in these formidable districts. This de- 
 voted soldier made use of the illusory provisions of the
 
 8 The Cliouans. 
 
 new law to declare that he would equip and arm at 
 once all recruits, and he announced that he held at their 
 disposal the one month's advanced pa}' promised by 
 the government to these exceptional levies. Though 
 Brittany had hitherto repeatedly refused all kinds of 
 military service under the Republic, the levies were 
 made under the new law on the faith of its promises, 
 and with such promptness that even the commander was 
 startled. But he was one of those wary old watch-dogs 
 who are hard to catch napping. He no sooner saw 
 the contingents arriving one after the other than he 
 suspected some secret motive for such prompt action. 
 Possibly he was right in ascribing it to the fact of 
 getting arms. At any rate, no sooner were the Fou- 
 geres recruits obtained than, without delaying for 
 laggards, he took immediate steps to fall back towards 
 Alencon, so as to be near a loyal neighborhood, 
 though the growing disaffection along the route made 
 the success of this measure problematical. This old 
 officer, who, under instruction of his superiors, kept 
 secret the disasters of our armies in Italy and Germany 
 and the disturbing news from La Vendee, was attempt- 
 ing on the morning when this history begins, to make a 
 forced march on Mayenne, where he was resolved to 
 execute the law according to his own good pleasure, and 
 fill the half-empty companies of his own brigade with 
 his Breton conscripts. The word "conscript" which 
 later became so celebrated, had just now for the first 
 time taken the place in the government decrees of 
 the word requisitionnaire hitherto applied to all Re- 
 publican recruits. 
 
 Before leaving Fougrres the chief secreth" issued to 
 his own men ample supplies of ammunition and sulfi-
 
 TJie Chouans. 9 
 
 cient rations of bread for the whole detachment, so as 
 to conceal from the conscripts the length of the march 
 before them. He intended not to stop at Ernee (the 
 last stage before Mayenne), where the men of the con- 
 tingent might find a way of communicating with the 
 Chouans who were no doubt hanging on his flanks. 
 The dead silence which reigned among the recruits, 
 surprised at the manoeuvring of the old republican, and 
 their lagging march up the mountain excited to the 
 very utmost the distrust and watchfulness of the chief 
 whose name was Ilulot. All the striking points in 
 the foregoing description had been to him matters of 
 the keenest interest ; he marched in silence, surrounded 
 by five 3*oung officers, each of whom respected the 
 evident preoccupation of their leader. But just as Hulot 
 reached the summit of La Pelerine he turned his head, 
 as if by instinct, to inspect the anxious faces of the 
 recruits, and suddenly broke silence. The slow advance 
 of the Bretons had put a distance of three or four hun- 
 dred feet between themselves and their escort. Hulot's 
 face contorted after a fashion peculiar to himself. 
 
 " What the devil are those dandies up to?" he ex- 
 claimed in a sonorous voice. " Creeping instead of 
 marching, I call it." 
 
 At his first words the officers who accompanied him 
 turned spasmodically, as if startled out of sleep by a sud- 
 den noise. The sergeants and corporals followed their 
 example, and the whole company paused in its march 
 without receiving the wished for " Halt ! " Though the 
 officers cast a first look at the detachment, which was 
 creeping like an elongated tortoise up the mountain of 
 La Pelerine, these young men, all dragged, like many 
 others, from important studies to defend their country,
 
 10 The CJionans. 
 
 and in whom war bad not yet smotliorcd the sentiment 
 of art, were so much struck by the scene which lay spread 
 before their eyes that they made no answer to their chiefs 
 remark, the real significance of which was unknown to 
 them. Though they had come from Fougeres, where 
 the scene which now presented itself to their eyes is 
 also visible (but with certain differences caused by the 
 change of perspective), they could not resist pausing to 
 admire it again, like those dilettanti who enjoy all 
 music the more when familiar with its construction. 
 
 From the summit of La Pelerine the traveller's eye 
 can range over the great valley of Coucsnon, at one of 
 the farthest points of which, along the horizon, lay the 
 town of Fougeres. From here the oilicers could see, 
 to its full extent, the basin of this intervale, as remark- 
 able for the fertility of its soil as for the variet\~ of its 
 aspects. Mountains of gneiss and slate rose on all 
 sides, like an amphitheatre, hiding their ruddy flanks 
 behind forests of oak, and forming on their declivities 
 other and lesser valleys full of dewy freshness. These 
 rocky heights made a vast inclosure, circular in form, 
 in the centre of which a meadow lay softly stretched, 
 like the lawn of an English garden. A number of 
 evergreen hedges, defining irregular pieces of property 
 which were planted with trees, gave to this carpet of 
 verdure a character of its own, and one that is some- 
 what unusual among the landscapes of France ; it held 
 the teeming secrets of many beauties in its various 
 contrasts, the effects of which were fine enough to 
 arrest the eye of the most indilferent spectator. 
 
 At this particular moment the scene was brightened 
 by the Heeling glow with which Nature delights at 
 times in heightening tin: beauty of her imperishable
 
 The Chouans. 11 
 
 creations. While the detachment was crossing the val- 
 ley, the rising sun had slowly scattered the fleecy mists 
 which float above the meadows of a September morning. 
 As the soldiers turned to look back, an invisible hand 
 seemed to lift from the landscape the last of these veils 
 a delicate vapor, like a diaphanous gauze through 
 which the glow of precious jewels excites our curiosity. 
 Not a cloud could be seen on the wide horizon to mark 
 by its silvery whiteness that the vast blue arch was the 
 firmament; it seemed, on the contrary, a dais of silk, 
 held up by the summits of the mountains and placed in 
 the atmosphere, to protect that beautiful assemblage of 
 fields and meadows and groves and brooks. 
 
 The group of j'oung officers paused to examine a 
 scene so filled with natural beauties. The 63"es of some 
 roved among the copses, which the sterner tints of 
 autumn were already enriching with their russet tones, 
 contrasting the more with the emerald-green of the 
 meadows in which they grew ; others took note of a 
 different contrast, made by the ruddy fields, where the 
 buckwheat had been cut and tied in sheaves (like stands 
 of arms around a bivouac), adjoining other fields of rich 
 ploughed land, from which the rye was alread}- har- 
 vested. Here and there were dark slate roofs above 
 w T hich puffs of white smoke were rising. The glittering 
 silver threads of the winding brooks caught the eye, 
 here and there, by one of those optic lures which render 
 the soul one knows not how or why perplexed and 
 dreamy. The fragrant freshness of the autumn breeze, 
 the stronger odors of the forest, rose like a waft of 
 incense to the admirers of this beautiful region, who 
 noticed with delight its rare wild-flowers, its vigorous 
 vegetation, and its verdure, worthy of England, the
 
 12 The Chouans. 
 
 very word being common to the two languages. A few 
 cattle gave life to the scene, already so dramatic. The 
 birds sang, filling the valley with a sweet, vague melody 
 that quivered in the air. If a quiet imagination will 
 picture to itself these rich fluctuations of light and 
 shade, the vaporous outline of the mountains, the mys- 
 terious perspectives which were seen where the trees 
 gave an opening, or the streamlets ran, or some coquet- 
 tish little glade fled away in the distance ; if memory 
 will color, as it were, this sketch, as fleeting as the 
 moment when it was taken, the persons for whom 
 such pictures are not without charm will have an im- 
 perfect image of the magic scene which delighted the 
 still impressionable souls of the young officers. 
 
 Thinking that the poor recruits must be leaving, with 
 regret, their own country and their beloved customs, to 
 die, perhaps, in foreign lands, the}' involuntarily ex- 
 cused a tardiness their feelings comprehended. Then, 
 with the generosity natural to soldiers, they disguised 
 their indulgence under an apparent desire to examine 
 into the military position of the land. But Ilulot, 
 whom we shall henceforth call the commandant, to 
 avoid giving him the inharmonious title of "chief of 
 a half-brigade" was one of those soldiers who, in 
 critical moments, cannot be caught by the charms of 
 a landscape, were they even those of a terrestrial para- 
 dise. He shook his head with an impatient gesture 
 and contracted the thick, black eyebrows which gave 
 so stern an expression to his face. 
 
 "Why the devil don't they come up?" he said, for 
 the second time, in a hoarse voice, roughened by the 
 toils of war. 
 
 " You ask why? " replied a voice.
 
 The Chouans. 13 
 
 Hearing these words, which seemed to issue from a 
 horn, such as the peasants of the western valleys use to 
 call their Hocks, the commandant turned sharpl}- round, 
 as if pricked by a sword, and beheld, close behind him, 
 a personage eveu more fantastic in appearance than any 
 of those who were now being escorted to Mayenne to 
 serve the Republic. This unknown man, short and 
 thick-set in figure and broad-shouldered, had a head 
 like a bull, to which, in fact, he bore more than one 
 resemblance. His nose seemed shorter than it was, on 
 account of the thick nostrils. His full lips, drawn from 
 the teeth which were white as snow, his large and 
 round black eyes with their shaggy brows, his hanging 
 ears and tawny hair, seemed to belong far less to our 
 fine Caucasian race than to a breed of herbivorous 
 animals. The total absence of all the usual character- 
 istics of the social man made that bare head still more 
 remarkable. The face, bronzed by the sun (its angu- 
 lar outlines presenting a sort of vague likeness to the 
 granite which forms the soil of the region), was the 
 only visible portion of the body of this singular being. 
 From the neck down he was wrapped in a "sarrau" 
 or smock, a sort of russet linen blouse, coarser in 
 texture than that of the trousers of the less fortu- 
 nate conscripts. This " sarrau," in which an antiquary 
 would have recognized the "saye," or the" sayon " of 
 the Gauls, ended at his middle, where it was fastened 
 to two leggings of goatskin by slivers, or thongs of 
 wood, roughly cut, some of them still covered with 
 their peel or bark. These hides of the nanny-goat (to 
 give them the name by which they were known to the 
 peasantry) covered his legs and thighs, and masked all 
 appearance of human shape. Enormous sabots hid his
 
 14 The Chouans. 
 
 feet. His long and shining hair fell straight, like the 
 goat's hair, on either side of his luce, being parted in 
 the centre like the hair of certain statues of the Middle- 
 Ages which are still to be seen in our cathedrals. In 
 place of the knotty stick which the conscripts carried 
 over their shoulders, this man held against his breast, 
 as though it were a musket, a heavy whip, the lash of 
 which was closely braided and seemed to be twice as 
 long as that of an ordinary whip. The sudden appari- 
 tion of this strange being seemed easily explained. At 
 first sight some of the officers took him for a recruit or 
 conscript (the words were used indiscriminately) who 
 had outstripped the column. But the commandant him- 
 self was singularly surprised by the man's presence ; he 
 showed no alarm, but his face grew thoughtful. After 
 looking the intruder well over, he repeated, mechani- 
 cally, as if preoccupied with anxious thought: "Yes, 
 why don't the}' come on? do you know, you?" 
 
 '' Because," said the gloomy apparition, with an accent 
 which proved his difficulty in speaking French, " there 
 Maine begins" (pointing with his huge, rough hand 
 towards Krnee), " and Brctagne ends." 
 
 Then he struck the ground sharply with the handle of 
 his heavy whip close to the commandant's feet. The 
 impression produced on the spectators by the laconic 
 harangue of the stranger was like that of a tom-tom in 
 the midst of tender music. But the word 'harangue'' is 
 insufficient to reproduce the hatred, the desires of ven- 
 geance expressed by the haughty gesture of the hand, the 
 brevity of the speech, and the look of sullen and cool- 
 bloodcd energy on the countenance of the speaker. 
 The coarseness and roughness of the man, chopped 
 out, as it seemed by an axe, with his rough bark still
 
 The Chouans. 15 
 
 left on him, and the stupid ignorance of his features, 
 made him seem, for the moment, like some half-savage 
 demigod. lie stood stock-still in a prophetic attitude, 
 as though he were the Genius of Brittany rising from a 
 slumber of three years, to renew a war in which victory 
 could only be followed by twofold mourning. 
 
 '* A prett}" fellow this!" thought llulot; "he looks 
 to me like the emissary of men who mean to argue with 
 their muskets." 
 
 Having growled these words between his teeth, the 
 commandant cast his eyes in turn from the man to 
 the valley, from the valley to the detachment, from the 
 detachment to the steep acclivities on the right of the 
 road, the ridges of which were covered with the broom 
 and gorse of Brittany; then he suddenly turned them 
 full on the stranger, whom he subjected to a mute 
 interrogation, which he ended at last by roughly 
 demanding, ''Where do you come from?" 
 
 His eager, piercing eye strove to detect the secrets 
 of that impenetrable face, which never changed from the 
 vacant, torpid expression in which a peasant when 
 doing nothing wraps himself. 
 
 " From the country of the Gars," replied the man, 
 without showing an}' uneasiness. 
 
 " Your name? " 
 
 " Marche-d-Terre." 
 
 " Why do you call yourself by your Chonan name in 
 defiance of the law?" 
 
 Marche-a-Terre, to use the name he gave to himself, 
 looked at the commandant with so genuine an air of 
 stupidity that the soldier believed the man had not 
 understood him. 
 
 ; ' Do you belong to the recruits from Fougeres?"
 
 16 The Chouans. 
 
 To this inquiry Marche-a-Terre replied In* the bucolic 
 " I don't know," the hopeless imbecility of which puts 
 an end to all inquiry. He seated himself b^y the road- 
 side, drew from his smock a few pieces of thin, black 
 buckwheat-bread, a national delicacy, the dismal de- 
 lights of which none but a Breton can understand, 
 and began to eat with stolid indifference. There seemed 
 such a total absence of all human intelligence about 
 the man that the officers compared him in turn to the 
 cattle browsing in the valley pastures, to the savages 
 of America, or the aboriginal inhabitants of the Cape 
 of Good Hope. Deceived by his behavior, the com- 
 mandant himself was about to turn a deaf ear to his 
 own misgivings, when, casting a last prudent glance ou 
 the man whom he had taken for the herald of an 
 approaching carnage, he suddenly noticed that the hair, 
 the smock, and the goatskin leggings of the stranger were 
 full of thorns, scraps of leaves, and bits of trees and 
 bushes, as though this Chouan had lately made his way 
 for a long distance through thickets and underbrush. 
 Hulot looked significantly at his adjutant Gerard who 
 stood beside him, pressed his hand firmly, and said in a 
 low voice: "We came for wool, but we shall go back 
 sheared." 
 
 The officers looked at each other silently in astonish- 
 ment. 
 
 It is necessary bore to make a digression, or the fears 
 of the commandment Avill not be intelligible to those 
 sta3'-at-home persons who are in the habit of doubting 
 everything because they have seen nothing, and who 
 might therefore deny the existence of Marche-a-Terre 
 ami the peasantry of the West, whose conduct, in the 
 times we are speaking of, was often sublime.
 
 The Chouans. 17 
 
 The word " gars " pronounced " ga " is a relic of the 
 Celtic language. It has passed from low Breton into 
 French, and the word in our present speech has more 
 ancient associations than any other. The " gais " was 
 the principal weapon of the Gauls; "gaisde" meant 
 armed; "gais" courage; "gas." force. The word 
 has an analog}' with the Latin word " vir " man, the 
 root of "virtus" strength, courage. The present dis- 
 sertation is excusable as of national interest ; besides, 
 it may help to restore the use of such words as : " gars, 
 garcon, garconnette, garce, garcette," now discarded 
 from our speech as unseemly ; whereas their origin is 
 so warlike that we shall use them from time to time in 
 the course of this history. " She is a famous ' garce ' ! " 
 was a compliment little understood by Madame de 
 Stael when it was paid to her in a little village of La 
 Vendee, where she spent a few days of her exile. 
 
 Brittany is the region in all France where the man- 
 ners and customs of the Gauls have left their strongest 
 imprint. That portion of the province where, even to 
 our own times, the savage life and superstitious ideas 
 of our rude ancestors still continue if we may use the 
 word rampant, is called " the country of the Gars." 
 "When a canton (or district) is inhabited by a number 
 of half-savages like the one who has just appeared upon 
 the scene, the inhabitants call them "the Gars of 
 such or such a parish.''' This classic name is a reward 
 for the fidelity with which the}' struggle to preserve the 
 traditions of the language and manners of their Gaelic 
 
 ~ ~ 
 
 ancestors ; their lives show to this day many remark- 
 able and deeply embedded vestiges of the beliefs and 
 superstitious practices of those ancient times. Feudal 
 customs are still maintained. Antiquaries find Druidic 
 
 2
 
 18 The Chouans. 
 
 monuments still standing. The genius of modern civil- 
 ization shrinks from forcing its way through those 
 impenetrable primordial forests. An unheard-of fero- 
 ciousness, a brutal obstinacy, but also a regard for the 
 sanctity of an oath ; a complete ignoring of our laws, 
 our customs, our dress, our modern coins, our language, 
 but withal a patriarchal simplicity and virtues that are 
 heroic, unite in keeping the inhabitants of this region 
 more impoverished as to all intellectual knowledge than 
 the Redskins, but also as proud, as crafty, and as endur- 
 ing as they. The position which Brittany occupies in the 
 centre of Europe makes it more interesting to observe 
 than Canada. Surrounded by light whose beneficent 
 warmth never reaches it, this region is like a frozen 
 coal left black in the middle of a glowing fire. The 
 efforts made by several noble minds to win this glorious 
 part of France, so rich in neglected treasures, to social 
 life and to prosperity have all, even when sustained by 
 government, come to nought against the inflexibility of 
 a population given over to the habits of immemorial 
 routine. This unfortiuiate condition is partly accounted 
 for by the nature of the land, broken by ravines, moun- 
 tain torrents, lakes, and marshes, and bristling with 
 hedges or earth-works which make a sort of citadel 
 of every field ; without roads, without canals, and at 
 the mercy of prejudices which scorn our modern agri- 
 culture. These will further be shown with all their 
 dangers in our present history. 
 
 The picturesque lay of the land and the superstitions 
 of the inhabitants prevent the formation of communi- 
 ties and the benefits arising from the exchange and 
 comparison of ideas. There are no villages. The 
 rickety buildings which the people call homes are
 
 The Chouans. 19 
 
 sparsely scattered through the wilderness. Each family 
 lives as in a desert. The only meetings among them 
 are on Simdaj's and feast-days in the parish church. 
 These silent assemblies, under the eye of the rector 
 (the only ruler of these rough minds) last some hours. 
 After listening to the awful words of the priest they re- 
 turn to their noisome hovels for another week ; they 
 leave them only to work, they return to them only to 
 sleep. No one ever visits them, unless it is the rector. 
 Consequently, it was the voice of the priesthood which 
 roused Brittany against the Republic, and sent thou- 
 sands of men, five years before this history begins, to 
 the support of the first Chouannerie. The brothers 
 Cottereau, whose name was given to that first up- 
 rising, were bold smugglers, plying their perilous 
 trade between Laval and Fougeres. The insurrec- 
 tions of Brittany had nothing fine or noble about them ; 
 and it may be truly said that if La Vendee turned 
 its brigandage into a great war, Brittany turned war 
 into a brigandage. The proscription of princes, the 
 destruction of religion, far from inspiring great sacri- 
 fices, were to the Chouans pretexts fov mere pillage ; 
 and the events of this intestine warfare had all the 
 savage moroseness of their own natures. When the 
 real defenders of the monarchy came to recruit men 
 among these ignorant and violent people the}" vainly 
 tried to give, for the honor of the white flag, some 
 grandeur to the enterprises which had hitherto rendered 
 the brigands odious : the Chouans remain in history as 
 a memorable example of the danger of uprousing the 
 uncivilized masses of the nation. 
 
 The sketch here made of a Breton valley and of the 
 Breton men in the detachment of recruits, more espe-
 
 20 The Chouans. 
 
 cially that of the " gars" who so suddenly appeared on 
 the summit of Mont Pelerine, gives a brief but faithful 
 picture of the province and its inhabitants. A trained 
 imagination can by the help of these details obtain 
 some idea of the theatre of the war and of the men who 
 were its instruments. The flowering hedges of the 
 beautiful valleys concealed the combatants. Each field 
 was a fortress, every tree an ambush ; the hollow trunk 
 of each old willow hid a stratagem. The place for a 
 fight was everywhere. Sharpshooters were lurking at 
 every turn for the Blues, whom laughing .young girls, 
 unmindful of their perfidy, attracted within range, 
 for had the}- not made pilgrimages with their fathers 
 and their brothers, imploring to be taught wiles, and re- 
 ceiving absolution from their wayside Virgins of rotten 
 wood? Religion, or rather the fetichism of these igno- 
 rant creatures, absolved such murders of remorse. 
 
 Thus, when the struggle had once begun, every part 
 of the country was dangerous, in fact, all things 
 were full of peril, sound as well as silence, attraction 
 as well as fear, the family hearth or the open country. 
 Treachery was everywhere, but it was treachery from 
 conviction. The people were savages serving God and 
 the King after the fashion of lied Indians. To make 
 this sketch of the struggle exact and true at all points, the 
 historian must add that the moment Hoche had signed 
 his peace the whole country subsided into smiles and 
 friendliness. Families who were rending each other to 
 pieces over night, were supping together without danger 
 the next day. 
 
 The very moment that Commandant Hulot beeame 
 aware of the secret treachery betrayed by the hair}' skins 
 of Marche-a-Terre, he was convinced that this peace,
 
 The Chouans. 21 
 
 due to the genius of Hoche, the stability of which he 
 had always doubted, was at an end. The civil war, he 
 felt, was about to be renewed, doubtless more terrible 
 than ever after a cessation of three years. The Revo- 
 lution, mitigated by the events of the 9th Thermidor, 
 would doubtless return to the old terrors which had 
 made it odious to sound minds. English gold would, 
 as former!}', assist in the national discords. The Re- 
 public, abandoned by young Bonaparte who had seemed 
 to be its tutelary genius, was no longer in a condition 
 to resist its enemies from without and from within, 
 the worst and most cruel of whom were the last to 
 appear. The Civil War, already threatened by various 
 partial risings, would assume a new and far more 
 serious aspect if the Chouans were now to attack so 
 strong an escort. Such were the reflections that filled 
 the mind of the commander (though less succinctly 
 formulated) as soon as he perceived, in the condition of 
 Marche-a-Terre's clothing, the signs of an ambush care- 
 fully planned. 
 
 The silence which followed the prophetic remark of 
 the commandant to Gerard gave Hulot time to recover 
 his self-possession. The old soldier had been shaken. 
 He could not hinder his brow from clouding as he felt 
 himself surrounded by the horrors of a warfare the 
 atrocities of which would have shamed even cannibals. 
 Captain Merle and the adjutant Gerard could not ex- 
 plain to themselves the evident dread on the face of 
 their leader as he looked at Marche-a-Terre eating his 
 bread by the side of the road. But Hulot's face soon 
 cleared ; he began to rejoice in the opportunity to fight 
 for the Republic, and he joyously vowed to escape 
 being the dupe of the Chouans, and to fathom the wily
 
 22 The Chouans. 
 
 and impenetrable being whom they had done him the 
 honor to employ against him. 
 
 Before taking any resolution he set himself to study 
 the position in which it was evident the enemy intended 
 to surprise him. Observing that the road where the 
 column had halted was about to pass through a sort of 
 gorge, short to be sure, but flanked with woods from 
 which several paths appeared to issue, he frowned 
 heavily, and said to his two friends, in a low voice of 
 some emotion : 
 
 " We 're in a devil of a wasp's-nest." 
 
 " What do you fear? " asked Gerard. 
 
 "Fear? Yes, that's it, fear," returned the com- 
 mandant. " I have always had a fear of being shot like 
 a dog at the edge of a wood, without a chance of crying 
 out ' Who goes there ? ' ' 
 
 " Pooh ! " said Merle, laughing, " 'Who goes there ' 
 is all humbug." 
 
 ''Are we in any real danger?" asked Gerard, as 
 much surprised by Hulot's coolness as he was by his 
 evident alarm. 
 
 "Hush!" said the commandant, in a low voice. 
 "We are in the jaws of the wolf; it is as dark as a 
 pocket ; and we must get some light. Luckily, we 've 
 got the upper end of the slope ! " 
 
 So saying, he moved, with his two officers, in a way 
 to surround Marche-a-Terre, who rose quickly, pre- 
 tending to think himself in the way. 
 
 " Stay where yon are. vagabond ! " said Ilulot, keep- 
 ing liis eye on the apparently indifferent face of the 
 Breton, and giving him a push which threw him back 
 on the place where he had been sitting. 
 
 " Friends," continued Ilulot, in a low voice, speak-
 
 . The Chouans. 23 
 
 ing to the two officers. "It is time I should tell you 
 that it is all up with the army in Paris. The Directory, 
 in consequence of a disturbance in the Assembly, has 
 made another clean sweep of our affairs. Those pen- 
 tarehs, puppets, I call them, those directors have 
 just lost a good blade ; Bernadotte has abandoned them." 
 
 " Who will take his place?" asked Gerard, eagerly. 
 
 " Milet-Mureau, an old blockhead. A pretty time to 
 choose to let fools sail the ship ! English rockets from 
 all the headlands, and those cursed Chouan cockchafers 
 in the air ! You may rely upon it that some one behind 
 those puppets pulled the wire when they saw we were 
 getting the worst of it." 
 
 " How getting the worst of it? " 
 
 " Our armies are beaten at all points," replied Hulot, 
 sinking his voice still lower. " The Chouans have inter- 
 cepted tw r o couriers ; I only received my despatches and 
 last orders b}~ a private messenger sent by Bernadotte 
 just as he was leaving the ministry. Luckily, friends have 
 written me confidentially about this crisis. Fouche has 
 discovered that the tyrant Louis XVIII. has been ad- 
 vised by traitors in Paris to send a leader to his follow- 
 ers in La Vendee. It is thought that Barras is betraying 
 the Republic. At any rate. Pitt and the princes have 
 sent a man, a ci-devant, vigorous, daring, full of talent, 
 who intends, by uniting the Chouans with the Vendeans, 
 to pluck the cap of liberty from the head of the Repub- 
 lic. The fellow has lately landed in the Morbihan ; I 
 was the first to hear of it, and I sent the news to those 
 knaves in Paris. 'The Gars' is the name he goes by. 
 All those beasts, 'he added, pointing to Marche-a-Terre,' 
 stick on names which would give a stomach-ache to 
 honest patriots if they bore them. The Gars is now in
 
 24 The Chouans. 
 
 this district. The presence of that fellow " and again 
 he signed to Marche- a-Terre " as good as tells me he 
 is on our back. But the}' can't teach an old monkey 
 to make faces ; and you 've got to help me to get my 
 birds safe into their cage, and as quick as a flash too. 
 A pretty fool I should be if I allowed that ci-devant, 
 who dares to come from London with his British gold, 
 to trap me like a crow ! " 
 
 On learning these secret circumstances, and being 
 well aware that their leader was never unnecessarily 
 alarmed, the two officers saw the dangers of the posi- 
 tion. Gerard was about to ask some questions on the 
 political state of Paris, some details of which Ilulot had 
 evidently passed over in silence, but a sign from his 
 commander stopped him, and once more drew the eyes 
 of all three to the Chouan. Marehe-a-Terre gave no 
 sign of disturbance at being watched. The curiosit}' of 
 the two officers, who were new to this species of warfare, 
 was greatly excited by this beginning of an alTair which 
 seemed to have an almost romantic interest, and they 
 began to joke about it. But Hiilot stopped them at once. 
 
 "God's thunder!" he cried. '-Don't smoke upon 
 the powder-cask; wasting courage for nothing is like 
 carrying water in a basket. Gerard," he added, in the 
 ear of his adjutant, "get nearer, by degrees, to that 
 fellow, and watch him ; at the first suspicious action 
 put your sword through him. As for me, I must take 
 measures to cany on the ball if our unseen adversaries 
 choose to open it." 
 
 The Chouan paid no attention to the movements of 
 the young officer, and continued to play with his whip, 
 and fling out the lash of it as though he were fishing in 
 the ditch.
 
 The Chouans. 25 
 
 Meantime the commandant was saying to Merle, in 
 a low voice : '"Give ten picked men to a sergeant, und 
 post them yourself above us on the summit of this slope, 
 just where the path widens to a ledge ; there you ought 
 to see the whole length of the route to Ernee. Choose 
 a position where the road is not Hanked by woods, and 
 where the sergeant can overlook the country. Take 
 Clef-des-Coeurs ; he is very intelligent. This is no 
 laughing matter ; I would n't give a farthing for our 
 skins if we don't turn the odds in our favor at once." 
 
 While Merle was executing this order with a rapidity 
 of which he fully understood the importance, the com- 
 mandant waved his right hand to enforce silence on the 
 soldiers, who were standing at ease, and laughing and 
 joking around him. With another gesture he ordered 
 them to take up arms. When quiet was restored he 
 turned his eyes from one end of the road to the other, 
 listened with anxious attention as though he hoped to 
 detect some stilled sound, some echo of weapons, or 
 steps which might give warning of the expected attack. 
 His black eye seemed to pierce the woods to an extraor- 
 dinar\' depth. Perceiving no indications of danger, he 
 next consulted, like a savage, the ground at his feet, 
 to discover, if possible, the trail of the invisible enemies 
 whose daring was well known to him. Desperate at 
 seeing and hearing nothing to justify his fears, he turned 
 aside from the road and ascended, not without difficult}', 
 one or two hillocks. The other officers and the soldiers, 
 observing the anxiety of a leader in whom they trusted 
 and whose worth was known to them, knew that his 
 extreme watchfulness meant danger ; but not suspect- 
 ing its imminence, they merely stood still and held their 
 breaths In* instinct. Like dosjs endeavoring to guess
 
 26 The Chouans. 
 
 the intentions of a huntsman, whose orders are incompre- 
 hensible to them though they faithfully obey him, the 
 soldiers gazed in turn tit the valley, at the woods by the 
 roadside, at the stern faee of their leader, endeavoring 
 to read their fate. They queslioned each other with 
 their e}-es, and more than one smile ran from lip to lip. 
 
 When Hulot returned to his men with an anxious 
 look, Beau-Pied, a young sergeant who passed for the 
 wit of his company, remarked in a low voice : " Where 
 the deuce have we poked ourselves that an old trooper 
 like Hulot should pull such a gloomy face? lie's as 
 solemn as a council of war." 
 
 Hulot gave the speaker a stern look, silence being 
 ordered in the ranks. In the hush that ensued, the 
 lagging steps of the conscripts on the creaking sand of 
 the road produced a recurrent sound which added a sort 
 of vague emotion to the general excitement. Tins inde- 
 finable feeling can be understood only by those who 
 have felt their hearts beat in the silence of the night 
 from a painful expectation heightened \>y some noise, 
 the monotonous recurrence of which seems to distil 
 terror into their minds, drop by drop. 
 
 The thought of the commandant, as he returned to 
 his men, was: "Can I be mistaken?" lie glanced, 
 with a concentrated anger which flashed like lightning 
 from his eyes, at the stolid, immovable Chouan ; a look 
 of savage irony which he fancied he detected in the 
 man's eyes, warned him not to relax in his precautions. 
 Just then Captain Merle, having obeyed Ilulot's orders, 
 returned to his side. 
 
 "We did well, captain," said the commandant, "to 
 put the few men whose patriotism we can count upon 
 among those conscripts at the rear. Take a dozen more
 
 The Chouans. 27 
 
 of our own bravest fellows, with sub-lieutenant Lebnm 
 at their head, and make a rear-guard of them ; they '11 
 support the patriots who are there already, and help to 
 shove on that flock of birds and close up the distance 
 between us. I'll wait for you." 
 
 The captain disappeared. The commander's eve 
 singled out four men on whose intelligence and quick- 
 ness he knew he might rely, and he beckoned to them, 
 silently, with the well-known friendly gesture of moving 
 the right forefinger rapidly and repeatedly toward the 
 nose. They came to him. 
 
 " You served with me under Iloche," he said, " when 
 we brought to reason those brigands who call them- 
 selves ' Chasseurs du Iloi ; ' you know how they hid 
 themselves to swoop down on the Blues." 
 
 At this commendation of their intelligence the four 
 soldiers nodded with significant grins. Their hero- 
 ically martial faces wore that look of careless resignation 
 to fate which evidenced the fact that since the struggle 
 had begun between France and Europe, the ideas of the 
 private soldiers had never passed beyond the cartridge- 
 boxes on their backs or the bayonets in front of them. 
 With their lips drawn together like a purse when the 
 strings are tightened, they looked at their commander 
 attentively with inquiring eyes. 
 
 " You know," continued Hulot, who possessed the 
 art of speaking picturesquely as soldier to soldiers, 
 "that it won't do for old hares like us to be caught 
 napping by the Chouans. of whom there are plenty 
 all round us, or my name 's not Hulot. You four arc 
 to march in advance and beat up both sides of this 
 road. The detachment will hang fire here. Keep 
 your eyes about }*ou ; don't get picked off; and bring 
 me news of what you find quick ! "
 
 28 The Chouans. 
 
 So saying he waved his hand towards the suspected 
 heights along the road. The four men, by way of 
 thanks raised the backs of their hands to their battered 
 old three-cornered hats, discolored by rain and ragged 
 with age, and bent their bodies double. One of them, 
 named Larose, a corporal well-known to Hulot, re- 
 marked as he clicked his musket: " We'll play 'em a 
 tune on the clarinet, commander." 
 
 They started, two to right and two to left of the 
 road ; and it was not without some excitement that 
 their comrades watched them disappear. The com- 
 mandant himself feared that he had sent them to their 
 deaths, and an involuntary shudder seized him as he 
 saw the last of them. Oilicers and soldiers listened 
 to the gradually lessening sound of their footsteps, with 
 feelings all the more acute because they were carefully 
 hidden. There are occasions when the risk of four 
 lives causes more excitement and alarm than all the 
 slain at Jemmapes. The faces of those trained to war 
 have such various and fugitive expressions that a 
 painter who has to describe them is forced to appeal to 
 the recollections of soldiers and to leave civilians to 
 imagine these dramatic figures ; for scenes so rich in 
 detail cannot be rendered in writing, except at inter- 
 minable length. 
 
 Just as the bayonets of the four men were finally lost 
 to sight, Captain Merle returned, having executed the 
 commander's orders with rapidity. ITulot, with two or 
 throe sharp commands, put his troop in line of battle and 
 ordered it to return to the summit of La Pelerine where 
 his little advanced-guard were stationed ; walking last 
 himself and looking backward to note anv changes that 
 mi<'ht occur in a scene which Nature had made so
 
 The Chouans. 29 
 
 lovely, and man so terrible. As he reached the spot 
 where lie had left the Chouan, Marche-a-Terre, who had 
 seen with apparent indifference the various movements 
 of the commander, but was now watching with extraor- 
 dinary intelligence the two soldiers in the woods to the 
 right, suddenly gave the shrill and piercing cry of the 
 chouette, or screech-owl. The three famous smugglers 
 already mentioned were in the habit of using the vari- 
 ous intonations of this ciy to warn each other of danger 
 or of any event that might concern them. From this 
 came the nickname of " Chuin " which means chouette 
 or owl in the dialect of that region. This corrupted 
 word came finally to mean the whole bod}' of those 
 who, in the first uprising, imitated the tactics and the 
 signals of the smugglers. 
 
 When Hulot heard that suspicious sound he stopped 
 short and examined the man in tenth' ; then he feigned 
 to be taken in by his stupid air, wishing to keep him 
 by him as a barometer which might indicate the move- 
 ments of the enemy. lie therefore checked Gerard, 
 whose hand was on his sword to despatch him ; but he 
 placed two soldiers beside the man he now felt to be a 
 sp}', and ordered them in a loud, clear voice to shoot 
 him at the next sound he made. In spite of his immi- 
 nent danger Marche-a-Terre showed not the slightest 
 emotion. The commandant, who was studying him, 
 took note of this apparent insensibility, and remarked 
 to Gerard : " That fool is not so clever as he means to 
 be ! It is far from easy to read the face of a Chouan, 
 but the fellow betrays himself by his anxiety to show 
 his nerve. Ha ! ha ! if he had only pretended fear I 
 should have taken him for a stupid brute. He and I 
 might have made a pair ! I came very near falling into
 
 30 The Chouans. 
 
 the trap. Yes, we shall undoubtedly be attacked ; but 
 let 'em come ; I 'm all ready now." 
 
 As he said these words in a low voice, rubbing his 
 hands with an air of satisfaction, he looked at the 
 Chouan with a jeering eye. Then he crossed his arms 
 on his breast and stood in the road with his favorite 
 officers beside him awaiting the result of his arrange- 
 ments. Certain that a fight was at hand, he looked at 
 his men composedly. 
 
 "There'll be a row," said Beau-Pied to his com- 
 rades in a low voice. " See, the commandant is rub- 
 bing his hands." 
 
 In critical situations like that in which the detachment 
 and its commander were now placed, life is so clearh" at 
 stake that men of nerve make it a point of honor to 
 show coolness and self-possession. These are the mo- 
 ments in which to judge men's souls. The command- 
 ant, better informed of the danger than his two officers, 
 took pride in showing his tranquillity. With his eyes 
 moving from Marche-a-Terre to the road and thence to 
 the woods he stood expecting, not without dread, a gen- 
 eral volley from the Chouans. whom he believed to be 
 hidden like brigands all around him ; but his face re- 
 mained impassible. Knowing that the eyes of the 
 soldiers were turned upon him, he wrinkled his brown 
 cheeks pitted with the small-pox, screwed his upper lip, 
 and winked his right eye, a grimace always taken for 
 a smile by his men ; then he tapped Gt'rard on the 
 shoulder and said : ' Now that things are quiet tell me 
 what you wanted to say just now." 
 
 " I wanted to ask what this new crisis means, com- 
 mandant? " was the reply. 
 
 "It is not new," said Ilulot. "All Europe is
 
 The Chouans. 31 
 
 against us, and this time she has got the whip hand. 
 While those Directors are fighting together like horses 
 in a stable without any oats, and letting the government 
 go to bits, the armies are left without supplies or rein- 
 forcements. We are getting the worst of it in Italy ; 
 we 've evacuated Mantua after a series of disasters on 
 the Trebia, and Joubert has just lost a battle at Novi. 
 I onlj* hope Massena ma}* be able to hold the Swiss 
 passes against Suwarrow. We 're done for on the Rhine. 
 The Directory have sent Moreau. The question is, Can 
 he defend the frontier? I hope he may, but the Coali- 
 tion will end by invading us, and the only general able 
 to save the nation is, unluckily, down in that devilish 
 Egypt ; and how is he ever to get back, with England 
 mistress of the Mediterranean? " 
 
 " Bonaparte's absence doesn't trouble me, command- 
 ant," said the young adjutant Gerard, whose intelligent 
 mind had been developed by a fine education. '! am 
 certain the Revolution cannot be brought to naught. 
 Ha ! we soldiers have a double mission, not mereby to 
 defend French territory, but to preserve the national 
 soul, the generous principles of liberty, independence, 
 the rights of human reason awakened b}* our Assemblies 
 and gaining strength, as I believe, from day to day. 
 France is like a traveller bearing a light : he protects 
 it with one hand, and defends himself with the other. 
 If your news is true, we have never for the last ten 
 years been so surrounded with people trying to blow 
 it out. Principles and nation are in danger of perishing 
 together." 
 
 " Alas, yes," said Hulot, sighing. " Those clowns 
 of Directors have managed to quarrel with all the men 
 who could sail the ship. Bernadotte, Carnot, all of
 
 32 The Chouans. 
 
 them, even Talleyrand, have deserted ns. There's not 
 a single good patriot left, except friend Fouche, who 
 holds 'em through the police. There 's a man for you ! 
 It was he who warned me of the coining insurrection ; 
 and here we are, sure enough, caught in a trap." 
 
 " If the army does n't take things in hand and 
 manage the government," said Gerard, " those law- 
 yers in Paris will put us back just where we were be- 
 fore the Revolution. A parcel of ninnies ! what do they 
 know about governing? " 
 
 " I 'm always afraid they'll treat with the Bourbons," 
 said Ilulot. " Thunder! if they did that a pretty pass 
 we should be in, we soldiers ! " 
 
 " No, no. commandant, it won't come to that." said 
 Gerard. " The army, as you say, will raise its voice, 
 and provided it does n't choose its words from Piche- 
 gru's vocabulary I am persuaded we have not hacked 
 ourselves to pieces for the last ten years merely to ma- 
 nure the flax and let others spin the thread.'' 
 
 " Well," interposed Captain Merle. what we have 
 to do now is to act as good patriots and prevent the 
 Chouans from communicating with La Vendee ; for, if 
 tliev once come to an understanding and England gets 
 her finger into the pie, I would n't answer for the cap of 
 the Republic, one and indivisible." 
 
 As he spoke the cry of an owl, heard at a distance, 
 interrupted the conversation. Again the commander 
 examined Marche-a-Terre, whose impassible face still 
 gave no sign. The conscripts, their ranks closed up 
 by an officer, now stood like a herd of cattle in the road, 
 about a hundred feet distant from the escort, which was 
 drawn up in line of battle. ]>elnnd them stood the 
 rear-guard of soldiers and patriots, picked men. com-
 
 The Chouans. 83 
 
 mandcd by Lieutenant Lebrun. Hulot cast his e}*cs 
 over this arrangement of his forces and looked again at 
 the picket of ineii posted iu advance upon the road. 
 Satisfied with what he saw he was about to give the order 
 to march, when the tricolor cockades of the two soldiers 
 he had sent to beat the woods to the left caught his eye ; 
 he waited therefore till the two others, who had gone to 
 the right, should reappear. 
 
 " Perhaps the ball will open over there," he said to 
 his officers, pointing to the woods from which the two 
 men did not emerge. 
 
 While the first two made their report Hulot's atten- 
 tion was distracted momentarily from Marche-a-Terre. 
 The Chouan at once sent his owl's-cry to an apparently 
 vast distance, and before the men who guarded him 
 could raise their muskets and take aim he had struck 
 them a blow with his whip which felled them, and 
 rushed awa}'. A terrible discharge of fire-arms from 
 the w r oods just above the place where the Chouan had 
 been sitting brought down six or eight soldiers. 
 Marehe-;\-Terre, at whom several men had fired with- 
 out touching him, vanished into the woods after climb- 
 ing the slope with the agility of a wild-cat ; as he did 
 so his sabots rolled into the ditch and his feet were 
 seen to be shod with the thick, hobnailed shoes always 
 worn by the Chouans. 
 
 At the first cries uttered by the Chouans, the con- 
 scripts sprang into the woods to the right like a ilock of 
 birds taking flight at the approach of a man. 
 
 " Fire on those scoundrels ! " cried Ilulot. 
 
 The company fired, but the conscripts knew well how 
 to shelter themselves behind trees, and before the 
 soldiers could reload they were out of sight. 
 
 3
 
 34 The Chouam. 
 
 "What's the use of decreeing levies in the depart- 
 ments?" said Hulot. "It is only such idiots as the 
 Directory who would expect any good of a draft in this 
 region. The Assembly had much better stop voting 
 more shoes and money and munitions, and see that we 
 get what belongs to us." 
 
 At this moment the two skirmishers sent out on the 
 right were seen returning with evident difficulty. The 
 one that was least wounded supported his comrade, 
 whose blood was moistening the earth. The two poor 
 fellows were half-way down the slope when Marehe-a- 
 Terre showed his ugh" face, and took so true an aim 
 that both Blues fell together and rolled heavily into the 
 ditch. The Chouan's monstrous head was no sooner 
 seen than thirty muzzles were levelled at him, but, like 
 a figure in a pantomime, he disappeared in a second 
 among the tufts of gorse. These events, which have 
 taken so many words to tell, happened instantaneously, 
 and in another moment the rear-guard of patriots and 
 soldiers joined the main body of the escort. 
 
 " Forward ! " cried Ilulot. 
 
 The company moved quickly to the higher and more 
 open ground on which the picket guard was already 
 stationed. There, the commander formed his troop 
 once more in line of battle ; but. as the Chouans made 
 no further hostile demonstrations, he began to think 
 that the deliverance of the conscripts might have been 
 the sole object of the ambuscade. 
 
 "Their cries." he said to his two friends, "prove 
 that they are not numerous. We'll advance at a quick 
 stej). and possibly we may be able to reach Kriu'e 
 without getting them on our backs." 
 
 These words were overheard by one of the patriot
 
 The Chouans. 35 
 
 conscripts, who stopped from the ranks, and said 
 respectfully : 
 
 " General, I have already fought the Chouans ; may 
 I be allowed a word ? " 
 
 "A lawyer," whispered Ilulot to Merle. "They 
 always want to harangue. Argue away," he said to 
 the young man. 
 
 " General, the Chouans have no doubt brought arms 
 for those escaped recruits. Now, if we try to outmarch 
 them, they will catch us in the woods and shoot every 
 one of us before we can get to Ernee. We must argue, 
 as }'ou call it, with cartridges. During the skirmish, 
 which will last more time than you think for, some of 
 us ought to go back and fetch the National Guard and 
 the militia from Fougeres." 
 
 " Then you think there are a good man}* Chouans?" 
 
 "Judge for yourself, citizen commander." 
 
 He led Ilulot to a place where the sand had been 
 stirred as with a rake ; then he took him to the open- 
 ing of a wood-path, where the leaves were scattered 
 and trampled into the earth. unmistakable signs of 
 the passage of a large body of men. 
 
 "Those w-ere the 'gars' from Vitre," said the man, 
 who came himself from Fougeres ; "they are on their 
 way to Lower Normandy." 
 
 " What is your name?" asked Hulot. 
 
 " Gud'm, commander." 
 
 "Well,, then, Gudin, I make you a corporal. You 
 seem to me trustworthy. Select a man to send to 
 Fougeres ; but stay yourself by me. In the first place, 
 however, take two or three of your comrades and bring 
 in the muskets and ammunition of the poor fellows 
 those brigands have rolled into the ditch. These
 
 36 The Chouans. 
 
 Bretons," added Hulot to Gerard, "will make famous 
 infantry if they take to rations." 
 
 Gudin's emissaiy started on a run to Fougeres by a 
 wood-road to the left ; the soldiers looked to their arms, 
 and awaited an attack ; the commandant passed along 
 their line, smiling to them, and then placed himself, 
 with his officers, a little in front of it. Silence fell 
 once more, but it was of short duration. Three hundred 
 or more Chouans. their clothing identical with that of 
 the late recruits, burst from the woods to the right with 
 actual howls and planted themselves, without any sem- 
 blance of order, on the road directly in front of the feeble 
 detachment of the Blues. The commandant thereupon 
 ranged his soldiers in two equal parts, each with a front 
 of ten men. Between them, he placed the twelve re- 
 cruits, to whom he hastily gave arms, putting himself 
 at their head. This little centre was protected by the 
 two wings, of twentj'-five men each, which manoeuvred 
 on either side the road under the orders of Merle and 
 Gerard ; their object being to catch the Chouans on the 
 flank and prevent them from posting themselves as 
 sharp-shooters among the trees, where they could pick 
 off the Blues without risk to themselves ; for in these 
 wars the Republican troops never knew where to look 
 for an enemy. 
 
 These arrangements, hastily made, gave confidence 
 to the soldiers, ami they advanced in silence upon the 
 Chouans. At the end of a few seconds each side fired, 
 with the lo^s of several men. At this moment the two 
 win^s of the Republicans, to whom the Cliouans had 
 nothing to oppose, came upon their flanks, and. with a 
 close, quick volley, sent death and disorder among 
 the enemy. This manu'iivre very nearly equalized the
 
 The Chouans. 37 
 
 numerical strength of the two parties. But the Chouan 
 nature was so intrepid, their will so firm, that they did 
 not give way ; their losses scarcely staggered them ; 
 they simply closed up and attempted to surround the 
 dark and well formed little party of the Blues, which 
 covered so little ground that it looked from a distance 
 like a queen-bee surrounded by the swarm. 
 
 The Chouans might have carried the da}* at this 
 moment if the two wings commanded by Merle #nd 
 Gerard had not succeeded in getting in two volleys 
 which took them diagonally on their rear. The Blues 
 of the two wings ought to have remained in position 
 and continued to pick off in this wa}' their terrible ene- 
 mies ; but excited by the danger of their little main 
 bod}*, then completely surrounded by the Chouans, they 
 flung themselves headlong into the road with fixed 
 bayonets and made the battle even for a few moments. 
 Both sides fought with a stubbornness intensified by the 
 cruelty and fury of the partisan spirit which made this 
 war exceptional. Each man, observant of danger, was 
 silent. The scene was gloomy and cold as death itself. 
 Nothing was heard through the clash of arms and the 
 grinding of the sand under foot but the moans and 
 exclamations of those who fell, either dead or badly 
 wounded. The twelve loyal recruits in the republican 
 main body protected the commandant (who was guid- 
 ing his men and giving orders) with such courage that 
 more than once several of the soldiers called out 
 " Bravo, conscripts ! " 
 
 Hulot, imperturbable and with an eye to everything, 
 presently remarked among the Chouans a man who, 
 like himself, was evidently surrounded by picked men, 
 and was therefore, no doubt, the leader of the attacking
 
 38 The Chouans. 
 
 party. He was anxious to see this man distinctly, and 
 he made man}- efforts to distinguish his features, but in 
 vain ; they were hidden by the red caps and broad- 
 brimmed hats of those about him. Hulot did, however, 
 see Marehe-a-Terre beside this leader, repeating his 
 orders in a hoarse voice, his own carbine, meanwhile, 
 being far from inactive. The commandant grew im- 
 patient at being thus baffled. Waving his sword, he 
 urged on the recruits and charged the centre of the 
 Chouans with such fury that he broke through their 
 line and came close to their chief, whose face, however, 
 was still hidden by a broad-brimmed felt hat with a 
 white cockade. But the invisible leader, surprised at 
 so bold an attack, retreated a step or two and raised 
 his hat abruptly, thus enabling Ilulot to get a hasty 
 idea of his appearance. 
 
 He was young, Ilulot thought him to be about 
 twent3 - -five ; he wore a hunting-jacket of green cloth, 
 and a white belt containing pistols. His heavy shoes 
 were hobnailed like those of the Chouans ; leather leg- 
 gings came to his knees covering the ends of his 
 breeches of very coarse drilling, and completing a cos- 
 tume which showed off a slender and well-poised figure 
 of medium height. Furious that the Blues should thus 
 have approached him, he pulled his hat again over his 
 face and sprang towards them. But he was instantly 
 surrounded by Marche-a-Terre and several Chouans. 
 Ilulot thought he perceived between the heads which 
 clustered about this young leader, a broad red ribbon 
 worn across his chest. The e}-es of the commandant, 
 caught by this royal decoration (then almost forgotten 
 by republicans), turned quickly to the young man's face, 
 which, however, he soon lost sight of under the ne-
 
 The Chouans. 3D 
 
 cessity of controlling and protecting his own little troop. 
 Though he had barely time to notice a pair of brilliant 
 eyes (the color of which escaped him), fair hair and 
 delicate features bronzed by the sun, lie was much 
 struck by the dazzling whiteness of the neck, relieved 
 b}' a black cravat carelessly knotted. The fiery atti- 
 tude of the young leader proved him to be a soldier of 
 the stamp of those who bring a certain conventional 
 poesy into battle. His well-gloved hand waved above 
 his head a sword which gleamed in the sunlight. His 
 whole person gave an impression both of elegance and 
 strength. An air of passionate self-devotion, enhanced 
 by the charms of youth and distinguished manners, 
 made this emigre a graceful image of the French no- 
 blesse. He presented a strong contrast to Hulot, who, 
 ten feet distant from him, was quite as vivid an image 
 of the vigorous Republic for which the old soldier was 
 fighting ; his stern face, his well-worn blue uniform 
 with its shabby red facings and its blackened epaulettes 
 hanging back of his shoulders, being visible signs of its 
 needs and character. 
 
 The graceful attitude and expression of the young 
 man were not lost on the commandant, who exclaimed 
 as he pressed towards him: " Come on, opera-dancer, 
 come on, and let me crush you ! " 
 
 The royalist leader, provoked by his momentary dis- 
 advantage, advanced with an angry movement, but at 
 the same moment the men who were about him rushed 
 forward and Hung themselves with fury on the Blues. 
 Suddenly a soft, clear voice w-as heard above the din 
 of battle saying: "Here died Saint-Lescure ! Shall 
 we not avenge him?" 
 
 At the magic words the efforts of the Chouans be-
 
 40 The Chouans. 
 
 came terrible, and the soldiers of the Republic had great 
 difficulty in maintaining themselves without breaking 
 their little line of battle. 
 
 " If he was n't a young man," thought Ilulot, as he 
 retreated step by step, "we shouldn't have been at- 
 tacked in this wa}'. Who ever heard of the Chouans 
 fighting an open battle? Well, all the better! they 
 won't shoot us oif like dogs along the road." Then, 
 raising his voice till it echoed through the woods, he 
 exclaimed: "Come on, my men! Shall we let our- 
 selves befooled by those brigands? " 
 
 The word here given is but a feeble equivalent of the 
 one the brave commander used ; but every veteran can 
 substitute the real one, which was far more soldierly in 
 character. 
 
 " Gerard ! Merle !" added Ilulot, " call in your men, 
 form them into a battalion, take the rear, fire upon 
 those dogs, and let's make an end of this!" 
 
 The order was difficult to obey, for the young chief, 
 hearing Hulot's voice, cried out: "By Saint Anne of 
 Auray, don't let them get a\vay ! Spread out, spread out, 
 my lads ! " and each of the t\vo wings of the Blues was 
 followed by Chouans who were fully as obstinate and 
 far superior in numbers. The Republicans were sur- 
 rounded on all sides by the Goatskins uttering their 
 savage cries, which were more like howls. 
 
 " Hold your tongues, gentlemen," cried Beau-Pied ; 
 " we can't hear ourselves be killed.'"' 
 
 This jest revived the courage of the Blues. Instead 
 of fighting only at one point, the Republicans spread 
 themselves to three different points on the table-land 
 of La Pelerine, and the rattle o| musketry woke all the 
 echoes of the valleys, hitherto so peaceful beneath it.
 
 The Chouans. 41 
 
 Victory might have remained doubtful for many hours, 
 or the light might have come to an end for want of 
 combatants, for Blues and Chouans were equally brave 
 and obstinate. Each side was growing more and more 
 incensed, when the sound of a drum in the distance told 
 that a body of men must be crossing the valley of 
 Couesnon. 
 
 "There's the National Guard of Fougeres!" cried 
 Gudin, in a loud voice ; " my man has brought them." 
 
 The words reached the ears of the young leader of tho 
 Chouans and his ferocious aide-de-camp, and the royal- 
 ists made a hasty retrograde movement, checked, how- 
 ever, by a brutal shout from Marche-a-Terre. After 
 two or three orders given by the leader in a low voice, 
 and transmitted by Marche-a-Terre in the Breton dialect, 
 the Chouans made good their retreat with a cleverness 
 which disconcerted the Republicans and even the com- 
 mandant. At the first word of command they formed 
 in line, presenting a good front, behind which the 
 wounded retreated, and the others reloaded their guns. 
 Then, suddenly, with the agility already shown by 
 Marche-a-Terre, the wounded were taken over the brow 
 of the eminence to the right of the road, while half 
 the others followed them slowly to occupy the summit, 
 where nothing could be seen of them by the Blues but 
 their bold heads. There they made a rampart of the 
 trees and pointed the muzzles of their guns on the Re- 
 publicans, who were rapidly reformed under reiterated 
 orders from Hulot and turned to face the remainder of 
 the Chouans, who were still before them in the road. 
 The latter retreated slowly, disputing the ground and 
 wheeling so as to bring themselves under cover of their 
 comrades' fire. When they reached the broad ditch
 
 42 The Chouans. 
 
 which bordered the road, they scaled the high bank on 
 the other side, braving the fire of the Republicans, 
 which was sufficiently well-directed to fill' the ditch with 
 dead bodies. The Chouans already on the summit 
 answered with a fire that was no less deadly. At that 
 moment the National Guard of Fougeres reached the 
 scene of action at a quick step, and its mere presence 
 put an end to the affair. The Guard and some of the 
 soldiers crossed the road and began to enter the woods, 
 but the commandant called to them in his martial voice, 
 " Do you want to be annihilated over there? " 
 
 The victory remained to the Republicans, though not 
 without heavy loss. All the battered old hats were 
 hung on the points of the bayonets and the muskets 
 held aloft, while the soldiers shouted with one voice : 
 "Vive la Republique ! " Even the wounded, sitting 
 b} r the roadside, shared in the general enthusiasm ; 
 and Ilulot. pressing Gerard's hand, exclaimed : 
 
 " Ha, ha ! those are what I call veterans ! " 
 
 Merle was directed to bury the dead in a ravine ; 
 while another party of men attended to the removal of 
 the wounded. The carts and horses of the neighboring 
 farmers were put into requisition, and the suffering men 
 were carefully laid on the clothing of the dead. Before 
 the little column started, the National Guard of Fou- 
 geres turned over to Ilulot a Chouan, dangerously 
 wounded, whom they had captured at the foot of the 
 slope up which his comrades had escaped, and where 
 he had fallen from weakness. 
 
 ''Thanks for your help, citizens," said the com- 
 mandant. "God's thunder! if it hadn't been for 
 you, we should have had a pretty bad quarter of an 
 Lour. Take care of yourselves ; the war has begun.
 
 The Chouans. 43 
 
 Adieu, friends." Then, turning to the prisoner, he 
 asked, "What's the name of your general?" 
 
 " The Gars." 
 
 " Who ? Marchc-a-Terrc ? " 
 
 " No, the Gars." 
 
 " Where does the Gars come from? " 
 
 To this question the prisoner, whose face was con- 
 vulsed with suffering, made no reply ; he took out his 
 beads and began to sa}* his prayers. 
 
 " The Gars is no doubt that young ci-devant with the 
 black cravat, sent by the tyrant and his allies Pitt 
 and Coburg." 
 
 At these words the Chouan raised his head proudly 
 and said : " Sent by God and the king ! " He uttered 
 the words with an energy which exhausted his strength. 
 The commandant saw the difficulty of questioning a 
 dying man, whose countenance expressed his gloomy 
 fanaticism, and he turned awaj" his head with a frown. 
 Two soldiers, friends of those whom Marche-a-Tcrre 
 had so brutally killed with the butt of his whip, stepped 
 back a pace or two, took aim at the Chouan, whose 
 fixed eyes did not blink at the muzzles of their guns, 
 fired at short range, and brought him down. When 
 they approached the body to strip it, the dying man 
 found strength to cry out loudly, " Vive le roi ! " 
 
 "Yes, yes, you canting hypocrite," cried Clef-des- 
 Cceurs ; "go and make your report to that Virgin of 
 yours. Didn't he shout in our faces, 'Vive le roi!' 
 when we thought him cooked ? " 
 
 " Here are his papers, commandant," said Beau-Pied. 
 
 "ITo! ho!" cried Clef-des-Coeurs. "Come, nil of 
 you, and see this minion of the good God with colors 
 on his stomach ! "
 
 44 The Chouans. 
 
 Ilulot and several soldiers came round the body, now 
 entirely naked, and saw upon its breast a blue tattooing 
 in the form of a swollen heart. It was the sign of 
 initiation into the brotherhood of the Sacred Heart. 
 Above this sign were the words, "Marie Lambrequin," 
 no doubt the man's name. 
 
 "Look at that, Clef-des-Coeurs," said Beau-Pied; 
 " it would take you a hundred 3 - ears to find out what 
 that accoutrement is good for." 
 
 "What should I know about the Pope's uniform?''' 
 replied Clef-des-Coeurs, scornfully. 
 
 "You worthless bog-trotter, you'll never learn any- 
 thing," retorted Beau-Pied. "Don't 3-011 see that 
 they've promised that poor fool that he shall live again, 
 and he has painted his gizzard in order to find himself? " 
 
 At this sally which was not without some founda- 
 tion even Ilulot joined in the general hilarity. At 
 this moment Merle returned, and the burial of the dead 
 being completed and the wounded placed more or less 
 comfortably in two carts, the rest of the late escort 
 formed in two lines round the improvised ambulances, 
 and descended the slope of the mountain towards 
 Maine, where the beautiful valley of La Pelerine, a 
 rival to that of Couc'snon lay before it. 
 
 Ilulot with his two officers followed the troop slowly, 
 hoping to get safely to Krnee where the wounded could 
 be cared for. The fight we have just described, which 
 was almost forgotten in the midst of the greater events 
 which were soon to occur, was called b}' the name of 
 the mountain on which it took place. It obtained some 
 notice at the West, where the inhabitants, observant of 
 this second uprising, noticed on this occasion a great 
 change in the manner in which the Chouans now made
 
 The Chouans. 45 
 
 war. In earlier days they would never have attacked 
 so large a detachment. According to Hulot the young 
 royalist whom he had seen was undoubtedly the Gars, 
 the new general sent to France by the princes, who, 
 following the example of the other royalist chiefs, 
 concealed his real name and title under one of those 
 pseudonyms called " noms de guerre." This circum- 
 stance made the commandant quite as uneasy after his 
 melancholy victoiy as he had been before it while ex- 
 pecting the attack. He turned several times to con- 
 sider the table-land of La Pelerine which lie was leaving 
 behind him, across which he could still hear faintly at 
 intervals the drums of the National Guard descending 
 into the valley of Couesnon at the same time that the 
 Blues were descending into that of La Pelerine. 
 
 " Can either of you," he said to his two friends, 
 "guess the motives of that attack of the Chouans? 
 To them, fighting is a matter of business, and J can't 
 see what they expected to gain by this attack. They 
 have lost at least a hundred men, and we " he added, 
 screwing up his right cheek and winking by way of a 
 smile, " have lost only sixty. God's thunder ! I don't 
 understand that sort of speculation. The scoundrels 
 need n't have attacked us ; we might just as well have 
 been allowed to pass like letters through the post 
 No, I can't see what good it has done them to bullet- 
 hole our men," he added, with a sad shake of his head 
 toward the carts. " Perhaps they only intended to 
 say ffood-dav to us." 
 
 lj O V 
 
 " But they carried off our recruits, commander," said 
 Merle. 
 
 "The recruits could have skipped like frogs into the 
 woods at any time, and we should never have gone after
 
 46 The Chouans. 
 
 them, especially if those fellows had fired a single vol- 
 ley," returned Ilulot. " Xo, no, there's something 
 behind all this." Again he turned and looked at La 
 Pelerine. " See ! " he cried ; u see there ! " 
 
 Though they were now at a long distance from the 
 fatal plateau, the}" could easily distinguish Marche-a- 
 Terre and several Chouans who were again occupying it. 
 
 "Double-quick, march!" cried Ilulot to his men, 
 ''open your compasses and trot the steeds faster than 
 that ! Are your legs frozen? " 
 
 These words drove the little troop into rapid motion. 
 
 'There's a mystery, and it's hard to make out," 
 continued Ilulot, speaking to his friends. " God grant 
 it isn 't explained by muskets at Ernce. I 'm very 
 much afraid we shall find the road to Mayenne cut off 
 by the king's men." 
 
 The strategical problem which troubled the com- 
 mandant was causing quite as much uneasiness to the 
 persons whom he had just seen on the summit of Mont 
 Pelerine. As soon as the drums of the National Guard 
 were out of hearing and Marche-ii-Terre had seen the 
 Blues at the foot of the declivity, he gave the owl's cry 
 joyously, and the Chouans reappeared, but their num- 
 bers were less. Some were no doubt busy in taking 
 care of the wounded in the little village of La Pelerine, 
 situated on the side of the mountain which looks toward 
 the valley of Coucsnon. Two or three chiefs of what 
 were called the '"Chasseurs duRoi" clustered about 
 ]\Iarche-a-Terrc. A few feet apart sat the young noble 
 called The Gars, on a granite rock, absorbed in thoughts 
 excited by the diliimllirs of his enterprise, which now 
 beuau to show themselves. Marche-a-Tcrre screened
 
 The Chouans. 47 
 
 his forehead with his hand from the rays of the sun, and 
 looked gloomily at the road by which the Blues were 
 crossing the valle}' of La Pelerine. His small black 
 eyes could see what was happening ou the hill-slopes 
 on the other side of the valley. 
 
 "The Blues will intercept the messenger," said the 
 angry voice of one of the leaders who stood near him. 
 
 "By Saint Anne of Auray ! " exclaimed another. 
 " Why did you make us fight? Was it to save your 
 own skin from the Blues?" 
 
 Marche-a-Terre darted a venomous look at his ques- 
 tioner and struck the ground with his heavy carbine. 
 
 " Am I your leader? " he asked. Then after a pause 
 he added, pointing to the remains of Ilulot's detach- 
 ment, " If you had all fought as I did not one of those 
 Blues w r ould have escaped, and the coach could have got 
 here safely." 
 
 " They 'd never have thought of escorting it or hold- 
 ing it back if we had let them go by without a fight. 
 No, you wanted to save your precious skin and get out 
 of their hands He has bled us for the sake of his 
 own snout," continued the orator, " and made us lose 
 twenty thousand francs in good coin." 
 
 "Snout yourself! " cried Marche-a-Terre, retreating 
 three steps and aiming at his aggressor. "It isn't 
 that you hate the Blues, but you love the gold. Die 
 without confession and be damned, for you haven't 
 taken the sacrament for a year." 
 
 This insult so incensed the Chouan that he turned 
 pale and a low growl came from his chest as he aimed 
 in turn at Marche-a-Terre. The young chief sprang 
 between them and struck their weapons from th.eir 
 hands with the barrel of his o\vn carbine ; then he
 
 48 The Chouans. 
 
 demanded an explanation of the dispute, for the con- 
 versation had been carried on in the Breton dialect, an 
 idiom with which he was not familiar. 
 
 " Monsieur le marquis," said Marehe-a-Terrc, as he 
 ended his account of the quarrel, tk it is all the more 
 unreasonable in them to find fault with me because I 
 have left Pille-Miche behind me ; he '11 know how to 
 save the coach for us." 
 
 ' What ! " exclaimed the young man. angrily, " are 
 3'ou waiting here, all of you, to pillage that coach? 
 a parcel of cowards who could n't "win a victory in the 
 first fight to which I led you ! But why should you 
 win if that's your object? The defenders of God and 
 the king are thieves, are they? By Saint Anne of 
 Auray ! I 'd have you know, we are making war 
 against the Republic, and not robbing travellers. Those 
 who are guilty in future of such shameful actions shall 
 not receive absolution, nor any of the favors reserved 
 for the faithful servants of the king." 
 
 A murmur came from the group of Chouans, and it 
 was easv to see th:it the authority of the new chief was 
 about to be disputed. The young man. on whom this 
 effect of his words was by no menus lost, was thinking 
 of the best means of maintaining the dignity of the 
 command, when, the trot of a horse was heard in the 
 vicinity. All heads turned in the direction from which 
 the sound came. A lady appeared, sitting astride of a 
 little Breton horse, which she put at a gallop as soon as 
 she s;i\v the young leader, so as to reach the group of 
 Chouans as quicklv as possible. 
 
 " What is the matter?" she asked, looking first at 
 the Cliouans and then at their chief. 
 
 '' Could vou believe it. madame? thev are waiting to
 
 The Chouans. 49 
 
 rob the diligence from Mayenne to Foil ge res when we 
 have just had a skirmish, in order to release the con- 
 scripts of Foiigeres, which has cost us a great many 
 men without defeating the Blues." 
 
 " Well, where 's the harm of that? " asked the young 
 lady, to whom the natural shrewdness of a woman ex- 
 plained the whole scene. " You have lost men, but 
 there 's no lack of others ; the coach is bringing gold, 
 and there's always a lack of that. We bury men, who 
 go to heaven, and we take money, which goes into the 
 pockets of heroes. I don't see the difficulty." 
 
 The Chouans approved of her speech by unanimous 
 smiles. 
 
 " Do you see nothing in all that to make you blush ? " 
 said the young man, in a low voice. "Arc you in such 
 need of money that you must pillage on the high-road?" 
 
 " I am so eager for it, marquis, that I should put my 
 heart in pawn if it were not already captured," she said, 
 smiling coquettishly. "But where did you get the 
 strange idea that you could manage Chouans with- 
 out letting them rob a few Blues here and there? 
 Don't you know the saying, 'Thieving as an owl' ? 
 and that's a Chouan. Besides," she said, raising her 
 voice to be heard by the men, "it is just ; haven't the 
 Blues seized the property of the Church, and our own?" 
 
 Another murmur, very different from the growl with 
 which the Chouans had answered their leader, greeted 
 these words. The young man's face grew darker ; he, 
 took the young lady aside and said in the annoyed tone 
 of a well-bred man, "Will those gentlemen be at La 
 Vivetiere on the appointed da}'?" 
 
 "Yes," she replied, "all of them, the Claimant, 
 Grand-Jacques, and perhaps Ferdinand."
 
 50 The Clwuans. 
 
 " Then allow me to return there. I cannot sanction 
 such robber}'. Yes, madame, I call it robbery. There 
 may be honor in being robbed, but '' 
 
 "Well, well,'' she said, interrupting him, "then I 
 shall have your share of the booty, and I am much 
 obliged to you for giving it up to me ; the extra sum will 
 be extremely useful, for my mother has delayed send- 
 ing me money, so that I am almost destitute." 
 
 " Adieu ! " cried the marquis. 
 
 He turned away, but the lady ran after him. 
 
 " Why won't you stay with me ? " she said, giving him 
 the look, half-despotic, half caressing, with which women 
 who have a right to a man's respect let him know their 
 wishes. 
 
 " You are going to pillage that coach? " 
 
 "Pillage? what a word!" she said. "Let me ex- 
 plain to you 
 
 " Explain nothing." he said taking her hand and 
 kissing it with the superficial gallantry of a courtier. 
 "Listen to me." he added after a short pause: "if I 
 were to stay here while they capture that diligence our 
 people would kill me. for I should certainly 
 
 " Not kill them." she said quickly, " for they would 
 bind your hands, with all the respect that is due to your 
 rank ; then, having levied the necessary contribution 
 for their equipment, subsistence, and munitions from 
 our enemies, they would unbind you and obey you 
 blindly." 
 
 " And you wish me to command such men under 
 such circumstances? If my life is necessary to the 
 cause which I deft-ud allow me at any rate to save the 
 honor of mv position. If I withdraw now I can ignore 
 this base act. I will return, in order to escort vou."
 
 The Chouans. 51 
 
 So saying, he rapidl}' disappeared. The young lady 
 listened to his receding steps with evident displeasure. 
 "When the sound on the dried leaves ceased, she stood 
 for a moment as if confounded, then she hastily re- 
 turned to the Chouans. With a gesture of contempt 
 she said to Marche-a-Tcrre, who helped her to dis- 
 mount, " That young man wants to make regular 
 war on the Republic ! Ah, well ! he '11 get over that 
 in a few days. How he treated me ! " she thought, 
 presently. 
 
 She seated herself on the rock where the marquis 
 had been sitting, and silently awaited the arrival of the 
 coach. It was one of the phenomena of the times, and 
 not the least of them, that this young and noble lady 
 should be flung by violent partisanship into the struggle 
 of monarchies against the spirit of the age, and be 
 driven by the strength of her feelings into actions of 
 which it may almost be said she was not conscious. 
 In this she resembled others of her time who were 
 led away by an enthusiasm which was often produc- 
 tive of noble deeds. Like her, many women played 
 heroic or blameworthy parts in the fierce struggle. 
 The royalist cause had no emissaries so devoted and 
 so active as these women ; but none of the heroines on 
 that side paid for mistaken devotion or for actions for- 
 bidden to their sex, with a greater expiation than did this 
 lady when, seated on that waj-side rock, she was forced 
 to admire the young leader's noble disdain and loyalty 
 to principle. Insensibly she dropped into revery. Bit- 
 ter memories made her long for the innocence of her 
 early years, and regret that she had escaped being a 
 victim of the Revolution whose victorious march could 
 no longer be arrested by feeble hands.
 
 52 The Chouans. 
 
 The coach, which, as we now see, had much to do 
 with the attack of the Chouans, had started from the 
 little town of Ernee a few moments before the skirmish- 
 ing began. Nothing pictures a region so well as the 
 state of its social material. From this point of view 
 the coach deserves a mention. The Revolution itself 
 was powerless to destroy it ; in fact, it still rolls to the 
 present da}'. When Turgot bought up the privileges 
 of a company, obtained under Louis XIV., for the ex- 
 clusive right of transporting travellers from one part of 
 the kingdom to another, and instituted the lines of 
 coaches called the " turgotines," all the old vehicles 
 of the former company flocked into the provinces. One 
 of these shabby coaches was now plying between Ma- 
 yenne and Fougeres. A few objectors called it the 
 " turgotine," partly to mimic Paris and partly to de- 
 ride a minister who attempted innovations. This tur- 
 gotine was a wretched cabriolet on two high wheels, in 
 the depths of which two persons, if rather fat, could with 
 difficulty have stowed themselves. The narrow quarters 
 of this ricket}' machine not admitting of any crowding, 
 and the box which formed the seat being kept exclu- 
 sively for the postal service, the travellers who had any 
 baggage were forced to keep it between their legs, al- 
 ready tortured by being squeezed into a sort of little 
 box in shape like a bellows. The original color of 
 coach and running-gear was an insoluble enigma. Two 
 leather curtains, very difficult to adjust in spite of their 
 long service, were supposed to protect the occupants 
 from cold and rain. The driver, perched on a plank seat 
 like those of the worst Parisian " coucous," shared 
 in the conversation by reason of his position between 
 his victims, biped and quadruped. The equipage pre-
 
 The Chilians. 53 
 
 sentod various fantastic resemblances to decrepit old 
 men who have gone through a goodly number of ca- 
 tarrhs and apoplexies and whom death respects ; it 
 moaned as it rolled, and squeaked spasmodically. Like 
 a traveller overtaken by sleep, it rocked alternately for- 
 ward and back, as though it tried to resist the violent 
 action of two little Breton horses which dragged it 
 along a road which was more than rough. This monu- 
 ment of a past era contained three travellers, who, on 
 leaving Ernee, where they had changed horses, con- 
 tinued a conversation begun with the driver before 
 reaching the little town. 
 
 " What makes you think the Chouans are here- 
 abouts?" said the coachman. "The El-ne'e people 
 tell me that Commandant Ilulot has not yet started 
 from Fougeres." 
 
 <k Ho, ho, friend driver ! " said the youngest of the 
 travellers, " 3*011 risk nothing but your own carcass ! 
 If you had a thousand francs about you, as I have, and 
 were known to be a good patriot, you would n't take it 
 so easy." 
 
 ''You are pretty free with 3*011 r tongue, any way," 
 said the driver, shaking his head. 
 
 'Count your lambs, and the wolf will eat them," 
 remarked another of the travellers. 
 
 This man, who was dressed in black, seemed to be 
 about forty }'ears old, and was, probably, the rector of 
 some parish in the neighborhood. His chin rested on 
 a double fold of flesh, and his florid complexion indi- 
 cated a priest. Though short and fat, he displayed 
 some agility when required to get in or out of the 
 vehicle. 
 
 "Perhaps you are both Chouans!" cried the man of
 
 54 The Chouans. 
 
 the thousand francs, whose ample goatskin, covering 
 trousers of good cloth and a clean waistcoat, bespoke a 
 rich farmer. " By the soul of Saint Robespierre ! I 
 swear you shall be roughly handled." 
 
 He turned his gray eyes from the driver to his fellow- 
 travellers and showed them a pistol in his belt. 
 
 " Bretons are not afraid of that," said the rector, 
 disdainfully. " Besides, do we look like men who 
 want your money ? " 
 
 Ever}* time the word " money " was mentioned the 
 driver was silent, and the rector had wit enough to 
 doubt whether the patriot had any at all, and to suspect 
 that the driver was carrying a good deal. 
 
 " Are you well laden, Coupiau? " he asked. 
 
 " Oh, no, Monsieur Gudin," replied the coachman. 
 " I 'in carrying next to nothing." 
 
 The priest watched the faces of the patriot and 
 Coupiau as the latter made this answer, and both 
 were imperturbable. 
 
 " So much the better for you." remarked the patriot. 
 " I can now take measures to save 1113" property in case 
 of danger." 
 
 Such despotic assumption nettled Coupiau, who an- 
 swered gruffly : " I am the master of my own carriage, 
 and so long as I drive you " 
 
 " Are you a patriot, or are you a Chouan ? " said the 
 other, sharply interrupting him. 
 
 " Neither the one nor the other," replied Coupiau. 
 "I'm a postilion, and. what is more, a Breton, 
 consequently, I fear neither Blues nor nobles." 
 
 " Noble thieves ! " cried the patriot, ironically. 
 
 " They only take back what was stolen from them," 
 said the rector, vehemently.
 
 The Chouans. 55 
 
 The t\vo men looked at each other in the whites of 
 their eyes, if we may use a phrase so colloquial. 
 Sitting back in the vehicle was a third traveller who 
 took no part in the discussion, and preserved a deep 
 silence. The driver and the patriot and even Gudin 
 paid no attention to this mute individual ; he was, in 
 truth, one of those uncomfortable, unsocial travellers 
 who are found sometimes in a stage-coach, like a patient 
 calf that is being carried, bound, to the nearest market. 
 Such travellers begin by filling their fall legal space, 
 and end br sleeping, without the smallest respect for 
 their fellow-beings, on a neighbor's shoulder. The 
 patriot, Gudin, and the driver had let him alone, 
 thinking him asleep, after discovering that it was use- 
 less to talk to a man whose stolid face betrayed an 
 existence spent in measuring yards of linen, and an 
 intellect employed in selling them at a good percentage 
 above cost. This fat little man, doubled-up in his 
 corner, opened his porcelain-blue eyes every now and 
 then, and looked at each speaker with a sort of terror, 
 lie appeared to be afraid of his fellow-travellers and 
 to care very little about the Chouans. When he looked 
 at the driver, however, they seemed to be a pair of free- 
 masons. Just then the first volley of musketry was 
 heard on La Pelerine. Coupiau, frightened, stopped 
 the coach. 
 
 "Oh ! oh ! " said the priest, as if he had some means 
 of judging, " it is a serious engagement ; there are 
 many men." 
 
 " The trouble for us, Monsieur Gudin," cried Cou- 
 piau, " is to know which side will win." 
 
 The faces of all became unanimously anxious. 
 
 "Let us put up the coach at that inn which I see
 
 56 The Chouans. 
 
 over there," said the patriot; "we can hide it till we 
 know the result of the fight." 
 
 The advice seemed so good that Coupiau followed it. 
 The patriot helped him to conceal the coach behind a 
 wood-pile ; the abbe seized the occasion to pull Coupiau 
 aside and say to him, in a low voice : " Has he really 
 any money ? " 
 
 " Hey, Monsieur Gudin. if it gets into the pockets of 
 your Reverence, they won't be weighed down with it." 
 
 When the Blues marched by, after the encounter on 
 La Pelerine, they were in such haste to reach Krnce 
 that the}" passed the little inn without halting. At the 
 sound of their hasty march. Gudin and the innkeeper, 
 stirred by curiosity, went to the gate of the courtyard 
 to watch them. Suddenly, the fat ecclesiastic rushed to 
 a soldier who was lagging in the rear. 
 
 "Gudin!" he cried, "you wrong-headed fellow, 
 have 3'ou joined the Blues? My lad. you are surely 
 not in earnest?" 
 
 " Yes, uncle." answered the corporal. " I 've sworn 
 to defend France." 
 
 "Unhappy boy! you'll lose your soul." said the 
 uncle, trying to rouse his nephew to the religious 
 sentiments which are so powerful in the Breton breast. 
 
 "Uncle," said the young man, "if the king had 
 placed himself at the head of his armies. I don't say 
 but what 
 
 "Fool! who is talking to you about the king? 
 Does your republic give abbeys? Xo. it lias upset 
 everything. How do you expect to get on in life? 
 Stay with us ; sooner or later we shall triumph and 
 you '11 be counsellor to some parliament." 
 
 "Parliaments!" said young Gudin, in a mocking 
 tone. " Good-bv. uncle."
 
 The Chouans. 57 
 
 "You sha'n't have a penny at in}' death," cried his 
 uncle, in a rage. "I'll disinherit you." 
 
 "Thank you, uncle," said the Republican, as they 
 parted. 
 
 The fumes of the cider which the patriot copiously 
 bestowed on Coupiau during the passage of the little 
 troop had somewhat dimmed the driver's perceptions, 
 but he roused himself joyously when the innkeeper, 
 having questioned the soldiers, came back to the inn 
 and announced that the Blues were victorious. He 
 at once brought out the coach and before long it was 
 
 o o 
 
 wending its way across the valley. 
 
 When the Blues reached an acclivit\* on the road 
 from which the plateau of La Pelerine could ngain be 
 seen in the distance, Hulot turned round to discover 
 if the Chouans were still occupying it, and the sun, 
 glinting on the muzzles of the guns, showed them to him, 
 each like a dazzling spot. Giving a last glance to the 
 valley of La Pelerine before turning into that of Ernee, 
 he thought he saw Coupiau's vehicle on the road he 
 had just traversed. 
 
 " Is n't that the Mayenne coach?" he said to his two 
 officers. 
 
 They looked at the venerable turgotine, and easily 
 recognized it. 
 
 "But," said Hulot, "how did we fail to meet it?" 
 
 Merle and Gerard looked at each other in silence. 
 
 " Another enigma ! " cried the commandant. " But 
 I begin to see the meaning of it all." 
 
 At the same moment Alarche-a-Terre, who also knew 
 the turgotine, called his comrades' attention to it, and 
 the general shout of jo\' which the}' sent up roused the 
 young lady from her reflections. She advanced a little
 
 58 The Chouans. 
 
 distance and saw the coach, which was beginning the 
 ascent of La Pelerine with fatal rapidity. The luckless 
 vehicle soon reached the plateau. The Chouans, who 
 had meantime hidden themselves, swooped on their 
 prey with hungry celerity. The silent traveller slipped 
 to the floor of the carriage, bundling himself up into 
 the semblance of a bale. 
 
 " Well done ! " cried Coupiau from his wooden perch, 
 pointing to the man in the goatskin; "you must 
 have scented this patriot who has lots of gold in bis 
 pouch 
 
 The Chouans greeted these words with roars of 
 laughter, crying out : " Pille-Miche ! hey, Pille-Miche ! 
 Pille-Miche ! " 
 
 Amid the laughter, to which Pille-Miche responded 
 like an echo, Coupiau came down from his seat quite 
 crestfallen. When the famous C'ibot, otherwise called 
 Pille-Miche, helped his neighbor to get out of the 
 coach, a respectful murmur was heard among the 
 Chouans. 
 
 'It is the Abbe Oudin!" cried several voices. At 
 this respected name every hat was off, and the men 
 knelt down before the priest as they asked his 
 blessing, which he gave solemnly. 
 
 "Pille-Miche here could trick Saint Peter and steal 
 the keys of Paradise," said the rector, slapping that 
 worthy on the shoulder. "If it hadn't been for him, 
 the Blues would have intercepted us." 
 
 Then, noticing the lady, the abbe went to speak to 
 her apart. Marehe-iVTerre, who had meantime briskly 
 opened the boot of the cabriolet, held up to his com- 
 panions, with savage joy, a bag, the shape of which 
 betrayed its contents to be rolls of coin. It did not
 
 The Chouans. 59 
 
 take long to divide the boot}*. Each Chouan received 
 his share, so carefully apportioned that the division was 
 made without the slightest dispute. Then Marche-a- 
 Terre went to the lady and the priest, and offered them 
 each about six thousand francs. 
 
 " Can I conscientiously accept this money, Monsieur 
 Giulin?" said the lady, feeling a need of justification. 
 
 " Why not, madaine? In former days the Church 
 approved of the confiscation of the property of Prot- 
 estants, and there's far more reason for confiscating 
 that of these revolutionists, who deny God, destroy 
 chapels, and persecute religion." 
 
 The abbe then joined example to precept by accept- 
 ing, without the slightest scruple, the novel sort of 
 tithe which Marche-a-Terre offered to him. "Besides," 
 he added, " I can now devote all I possess to the 
 service of God and the king ; for my nephew has 
 joined the Blues, and I disinherit him." 
 
 Coupiau was bemoaning himself and declaring that 
 he was ruined. 
 
 "Join us," said Marche-a-Terre, " and you shall 
 have your share." 
 
 "They'll say I let the coach be robbed on purpose 
 if I return without signs of violence." 
 
 " Oh, is that all? " exclaimed Marche-a-Terre. 
 
 He gave a signal and a shower of bullets riddled the 
 turgotine. At this unexpected voile}' the old A'ehicle 
 gave forth such a lamentable cry that the Chouans, 
 superstitious by nature, recoiled in terror ; but Marche- 
 a-Terre caught sight of the pallid face of the silent 
 traveller rising from the floor of the coach. 
 
 " You Ve got another fowl in your coop," he said in 
 a low voice to Coupiau.
 
 60 The Chouans. 
 
 " Yes," said the driver ; " but I make it a condition 
 of my joining }"ou that I be allowed to take that worthy 
 man safe and sound to Fougeres. I 'in pledged to it in 
 the name of Saint Anne of An ray." 
 
 " Who is he?" asked Piile-Miehe. 
 
 " That I can't tell you," replied Coupiau. 
 
 " Let him alone ! " said Marche-a-Terre, shoving 
 Pille-Miche with his elbow; "he has vowed by Saint 
 Anne of Aura}-, and he must keep his word." 
 
 "Very good," said Pille-Miche, addressing Coupiau; 
 "but mind you don't go down the mountain too fast; 
 we shall overtake you, a good reason why ; I want 
 to see the cut of your traveller, and give him his 
 passport." 
 
 Just then the gallop of a horse coming rapidly up the 
 slopes of La Pelerine was heard, and the young chief 
 presently reappeared. The lady hastened to conceal 
 the bag of plunder which she held in her hand. 
 
 " You can keep that monej' without any scruple," 
 said the young man, touching the arm which the lady 
 had put behind her. " Here is a letter for 3*011 which 
 I have just found among mine which were waiting for 
 me at La Vivetiere ; it is from your mother." Then, 
 looking at the Chouans who were disappearing into the 
 woods, and at the turgotine which was now on its way 
 to the valley of Couesnon, he added : " After all my 
 haste I see I am too late. God grant I am deceived in 
 my suspicions ! " 
 
 " It was my poor mothers money!" cried the lady, 
 after opening her letter, the first lines of which drew 
 forth her exclamation. 
 
 A smothered laugh came from the woods, and the 
 young man himself could not help smiling as he saw
 
 The Chouans. 61 
 
 the lady holding in her hand the bag containing her 
 share in the pillage of her own money. She herself 
 began to laugh. 
 
 " Well, well, marquis, God be praised! this time, at 
 least, you can't blame me," she said, smiling. 
 
 " Levit}- in everything! even your remorse!" said 
 the young man. 
 
 She colored and looked at the marquis with so 
 genuine a contrition that he was softened. The abbe 
 politely returned to her, with an equivocal manner, the 
 sum he had received ; then he followed the young 
 leader who took the by-way through which he had 
 come. Before following them the lady made a sign to 
 Marche-a-Terre, who came to her. 
 
 " Advance towards Mortagne," she said to him in a 
 low voice. " I know that the Blues are constantly 
 sending large sums of money in coin to Alencon to pa} r 
 for their supplies of war. If I allow you and your 
 comrades to keep what you captured to-day it is only 
 on condition that you repay it later. But be careful 
 that the Gars knows nothing of the object of the 
 expedition ; he would certainly oppose it ; in case of 
 ill-luck, I will pacify him." 
 
 " Madame," said the marquis, after she had rejoined 
 him and had mounted his horse en croupe, giving her 
 own to the abbe, ' my friends in Paris write me to be 
 very careful of what we do; the Republic, they say, is 
 preparing to fight us with spies and treachery." 
 
 ''It wouldn't be a bad plan,'' she replied; " the}' 
 have clever ideas, those fellows. I could take part in 
 that sort of war and find foes." 
 
 " I don't doubt it !" cried the marquis. " Pichegru 
 advises me to be cautious and watchful in mv friend-
 
 62 The Chouans. 
 
 ships and relations of every kind. The Republic does 
 rue the honor to think me more dangerous than all the 
 Vendeans put together, and counts on certain of my 
 weaknesses to lay hands upon me." 
 
 " Surely you will not distrust me? " she said, striking 
 his heart with the hand by which she held to him. 
 
 "Are }'ou a traitor, madame?" he said, bending 
 towards her his forehead, which she kissed. 
 
 " In that case,'' said the abbe, referring to the news, 
 "Fouche's police will be more dangerous for us than 
 their battalions of recruits and counter-Chouans." 
 
 "Yes, true enough, father," replied the marquis. 
 
 " Ah ! ah ! " cried the lad\'. " Fouche means to send, 
 women against you, does he? I shall be ready for 
 them," she added in a deeper tone of voice and after 
 a slight pause. 
 
 At a distance of three or four gunshots from the 
 plateau, now abandoned, a little scene was taking 
 place which was not uncommon in those days on the 
 high-roads. After leaving the little village of La Pe- 
 lerine, Pille-Miche and Marche-a-Terre again stopped 
 the turgotine at a dip in the road. Coupiau got off his 
 seat after making a faint resistance. The silent trav- 
 eller, extracted from his hiding-place by the two Chou- 
 ans, found himself on his knees in a furze bush. 
 
 " Who are }"ou?" asked Marchc-a-Terre in a threat- 
 ening voice. 
 
 The traveller kept silence till Pille-Miche put the 
 question again and enforced it with the butt end of his 
 gun. 
 
 " I am Jacques Pinaud," he replied, with a glance at 
 Coupiau ; " a poor linen-draper."
 
 The Chouans. 63 
 
 Coupiau made a sign in the negative, not consider- 
 ing it 11 n infraction of his promise to Saint Anne. The 
 sign enlightened Pille-Miche, who took aim at the luck- 
 less traveller, while Marche-a-Terre laid before him 
 categorically a terrible ultimatum. 
 
 " You are too fat to be poor. If you make me ask 
 you your name again, here *s my friend Pille-Miche, 
 who will obtain the gratitude and good-will of your 
 heirs in a second. "\Ylio are you?" he added, after a 
 pause. 
 
 " I am d'Orgemont, of Fougeres." 
 
 "Ah ! ah ! " cried the two Chouans. 
 
 "I didn't tell your name, Monsieur d'Orgemont," 
 said Coupiau. "The Holy Virgin is my witness that 
 I did my best to protect you." 
 
 "Inasmuch as you are Monsieur d'Orgemont, of 
 Fougeres," said Marche-a-Terre, with an air of ironical 
 respect, "we shall let you go in peace. Only, as you 
 are neither a good Chouan nor a true Blue (though it 
 was you who bought the property of the Abbey de 
 Juvigny), you will pay us three hundred crowns of six 
 francs each for your ransom. Neutrality is worth that, 
 at least." 
 
 "Three hundred crowns of six francs each!" cho- 
 russed the luckless banker, Pille-Miche, and Coupiau, 
 in three different tones. 
 
 " Alas, my good friend," continued d'Orgemont, " I 'm 
 a ruined man. The last forced loan of that devilish 
 Republic for a hundred millions sucked me diy, taxed 
 as I was already." 
 
 " How much did your Republic get out of you?" 
 
 "A thousand crowns, my dear man," replied the 
 banker, with a piteous air, hoping for a reduction.
 
 G4 The Chouans. 
 
 " If 3'our Republic gets forced loans out of you for 
 such big sums as that 3-011 must see that YOU would do 
 better with us ; our government would cost you less. 
 Three hundred crowns, do you call that dear for your 
 skin? " 
 
 " Where am I to get them? " 
 
 "Out of 3'our strong-box," said Pille-Miche; "and 
 mind that the mone3' is forthcoming, or we '11 singe 3 - ou 
 still." 
 
 " How am I to pa\- it to you?" asked d'Orgemont. 
 
 " Your countty-house at Fougores is not far from 
 Gibany's farm where tm" cousin Galope-Chopinc, other- 
 wise called Cibot, lives. You can pa\- the money to 
 him," said Pille-Miche. 
 
 "That's not business-like," said d'Orgemont. 
 
 "What do we care for that?" said Marche-a Terre. 
 " But mind 3*011 remember that if that money is not 
 paid to Galope-Chopine within two weeks we shall pay 
 3*ou a little visit which will cure your gout. As for 
 you. Coupiau," added Marche-a-Terre, '-your name in 
 future is to be Mene-a-Bien." 
 
 So saying, the two Chouans departed. The traveller 
 returned to the vehicle, which, thanks to Coupiati's 
 whip, now made rapid progress to Fougt'-res. 
 
 "If you'd only been armed," said Coupiau, "we 
 might have made some defence." 
 
 "Idiot!" cried d'Orgemont, pointing to his heav3* 
 shoes. " I have ten thousand francs in those soles ; 
 do you think I would be such a fool as to fight with 
 that sum about me? " 
 
 Mone-a-Bien scratched his ear and looked behind him, 
 but his new comrades were out of sight. 
 
 Iltilot and his command stopped at lornt'e long
 
 The Chouans. 65 
 
 enough to place the wounded in the hospital of the 
 little town, and then, without further hindrance, they 
 reached Mayenne. There the commandant cleared up 
 his doubts as to the action of the Chouans, for on the 
 following da}* the news of the pillage of the turgotine 
 was received. 
 
 A few days later the government despatched to Ma- 
 yenne so strong a force of "patriot conscripts," that 
 Hulot was able to fill the ranks of his brigade. Dis- 
 quieting rumors began to circulate about the insurrec- 
 tion. A rising had taken place at all the points where, 
 during the late war, the Chouans and Bretons had 
 made their chief centres of insurrection. The little 
 town of Saint-James, between Pontorson and Fougeres 
 was occupied by them, apparently for the purpose of 
 making it for the time being a headquarters of opera- 
 tions and supplies. From there they were able to com- 
 municate with Normandy and the Morbihan without 
 risk. Their subaltern leaders roamed the three prov- 
 inces, roused all the partisans of monarchy, and gave 
 consistence and unity to their plans. These proceed- 
 ings coincided with what was going on in La Vendee, 
 where the same intrigues, under the influence of four 
 famous leaders (the Abbe Vernal, the Comte de Fon- 
 taine, Ue Clutillon, and Suzannet), were agitating the 
 country. The Chevalier de Valois, the Marquis d'Es- 
 grignon, and the Troisvilles were, it was said, corre- 
 sponding with these leaders in the department of the 
 Orne. The chief of the great plan of operations which 
 was thus developing slowly but in formidable propor- 
 tions was really " the Gars," a name given by the 
 Chouans to the Marquis de Montauran on his arrival 
 from England. The information sent to Hulot by the
 
 66 The Chouans. 
 
 War department proved correct in all particulars. The 
 marquis gained after a time sufficient ascendency* over 
 the Chouans to make them understand the true object of 
 the war, and to persuade them that the excesses of which 
 they were guilty brought disgrace upon the cause the}" 
 had adopted. The daring nature, the nerve, coolness, 
 and capacity of this young nobleman awakened the 
 hopes of all the enemies of the Republic, and suited so 
 thoroughly the grave and even solemn enthusiasm of 
 those regions that even the least zealous partisans of 
 the king did their part in preparing a decisive blow in 
 behalf of the defeated monarchy. 
 
 Hulot received no answer to the questions and the 
 frequent reports which he addressed to the government 
 in Paris. 
 
 But the news of the almost magical return of General 
 Bonaparte and the events of the 18th Brumaire were 
 soon current in the air. The military commanders of 
 the West understood then the silence of the ministers. 
 Nevertheless, they were only the more impatient to 
 be released from the responsibility that weighed upon 
 them ; and they were in every way desirous of knowing 
 Avhat measures the new government was likel}' to take. 
 When it was known to these soldiers that General 
 Bonaparte was appointed First Consul of the Republic 
 their joy was great ; they saw, for the first time, one 
 of their own profession called to the management of 
 the nation. France, which had made an idol of this 
 young hero, quivered with hope. The vigor and energy 
 of the nation revived. Paris, weary of its long gloom, 
 gave itself up to fetes and pleasures of which it had 
 been so long deprived. The first acts of the Consulate 
 did not diminish any hopes, and Liberty felt no alarm.
 
 The Chouans. 67 
 
 The First Consul issued a proclamation to the inhabi- 
 tants of the West. The eloquent allocutions addressed 
 to the masses which Bonaparte had, as it were, in- 
 vented, produced effects in those days of patriotism 
 and miracle that were absolutely startling. His voice 
 echoed through the world like the voice of a prophet, 
 for none of his proclamations had, as }-et, been belied 
 by defeat. 
 
 INHABITANTS : 
 
 An impious war again inflames the West. 
 
 The makers of these troubles are traitors sold to the 
 English, or brigands who seek in civil war opportunity 
 and license for misdeeds. 
 
 To such men the government owes no forbearance, 
 nor any declaration of its principles. 
 
 But there are citizens, dear to France, who have been 
 misled by their wiles. It is to such that truth and light 
 are due. 
 
 Unjust laws have been promulgated and executed ; 
 arbitraiy acts have threatened the safety of citizens 
 and the liberty of consciences ; mistaken entries on the 
 list of emigres imperil citizens ; the great principles of 
 social order have been violated. 
 
 The Consuls declare that liberty of worship having 
 been guaranteed by the Constitution, the law of 11 
 Prairial, year III., which gives the use of edifices 
 built for religious worship to all citizens, shall be 
 executed. 
 
 The government will pardon ; it will be merciful to 
 repentance ; its mercy will be complete and absolute ; 
 but it will punish whosoever, after this declaration, 
 shall dare to resist the national sovereign! v.
 
 68 The Chouans. 
 
 "Well," said Hulot, after the public reading of this 
 Consular manifesto, "Isn't that paternal enough? 
 But you '11 see that not a single royalist brigand will 
 be changed b}' it." 
 
 The commandant was right. The proclamation 
 merely served to strengthen each side in their own 
 convictions. A few days later Hulot and his col- 
 leagues received reinforcements. The new minister of 
 war notified them that General Brune was appointed 
 to command the troops in the west of France. Hulot, 
 whose experience was known to the government, had 
 provisional control in the departments of the Orne and 
 Mayenne. An unusual activity began to show itself 
 in the government offices. Circulars from the minister 
 of war and the minister of police gave notice that 
 vigorous measures entrusted to the military command- 
 ers would be taken to stifle the insurrection at its birth. 
 But the Chouans and the Vemk'ans had profited b}* 
 the inaction of the Directory to rouse the whole region 
 and virtually take possession of it. A new Consular 
 proclamation was therefore issued. This time, it was 
 the general speaking to his troops : 
 
 SOLDIERS : 
 
 There are none but brigands, emigres, and hirelings 
 of England now remaining in the West. 
 
 The army is composed of more than fifty thousand 
 brave men. Let me speedily hear from them that the 
 rebel chiefs have ceased to live. Glory is won by toil 
 alone ; if it could be had by living in barracks in a 
 town, all would have it. 
 
 Soldiers, whatever be the rank you hold in the arm}', 
 the gratitude of the nation awaits you. To be worthy
 
 The Chouans. G9 
 
 of it, you must brave the inclemencies of weather, 
 ice, snow, and the excessive coldness of the nights ; 
 you must surprise your enemies at daybreak, and 
 exterminate those wretches, the disgrace of France. 
 
 Make a short and sure campaign ; be inexorable to 
 those brigands, and maintain strict discipline. 
 
 National Guards, join the strength of your arms to 
 that of the line. 
 
 If you know among you any men who fraternize with 
 the brigands, arrest them. Let them find no refuge ; 
 pursue them ; if traitors dare to harbor and defend 
 them, let them perish together. 
 
 "What a man ! " cried Ilulot. " It is just as it was 
 in the army of Italy he rings in the mass, and he 
 says it himself. Don't you call that talking, hey?" 
 
 " Yes, but he speaks by himself and in his own 
 name," said Gerard, who began to feel alarmed at 
 the possible results of the 18th Brumaire. 
 
 ''And where's the harm, since he's a soldier?" said 
 Merle, 
 
 A group of soldiers were clustered at a little distance 
 before the same proclamation posted on a wall. As 
 none of them could read, they gazed at it, some with 
 a careless eye, others with curiosity, while two or three 
 hunted about for a citizen who looked learned enough 
 to read it to them. 
 
 "Now you tell us, Clef-des-Coeurs, what that rag of 
 a paper says," cried Beau-Pied, in a sauc}' tone to his 
 comrade. 
 
 "Easy to guess," replied Clef-des-Coeurs. 
 
 At these words the other men clustered round the 
 pair, who were always ready to play their parts.
 
 70 The Chouans. 
 
 "Look there," continued Clef-cles-Coeuvs, pointing to 
 a coarse woodcut which headed the proclamation and 
 represented a pair of compasses, which had lately 
 superseded the level of 171)3. "It means that the 
 troops that's us are to inarch firm; don't you 
 see the compasses are open, both legs apart? that's 
 an emblem." 
 
 " So much for your learning, my lad ; it is n't an 
 emblem it's called a problem. I've served in the 
 artillery," continued Beau-Pied, "and problems were 
 meat and drink to my officers." 
 
 " I say it 's an emblem." 
 
 " It 's a problem " 
 
 "What will you bet?" 
 
 "Anything." 
 
 " Your German pipe?" 
 
 "Done!" 
 
 " By your leave, adjutant, is n't that thing an emblem, 
 and not a problem?" said Clef-des-Coeiirs, following 
 Ge"rard, who was thoughtfully walking awa}-. 
 
 " It is both," he replied, gravel}-. 
 
 "The adjutant was making fun of you," said Beau- 
 Pied. "That paper means that our general in Italy is 
 promoted Consul, which is a fine grade, and we are to 
 get shoes and overcoats."
 
 The Chouans. 71 
 
 II. 
 
 ONE OF FOUCIIli'S IDEAS. 
 
 ONE morning towards the end of Brumaire just as 
 Hulot was exercising his brigade, now by order of his 
 superiors wholly concentrated at Mayenne, a courier 
 arrived from Aleneon with despatches, at the reading 
 of which his face betrayed extreme annoyance. 
 
 " Forward, then!" he cried in an angry tone, stick- 
 ing the papers into the crown of his hat. " Two 
 companies will march with me towards Mortagne. The 
 Chouans are there. You will accompany me," he said 
 to Merle and Gerard. "May I be created a nobleman 
 if I can understand one word of that despatch. Perhaps 
 I 'm a fool ! well, anyhow, forward, march ? there 's no 
 time to lose." 
 
 " Commandant, by your leave," said Merle, kicking 
 the cover of the ministerial despatch with the toe of 
 his boot, "what is there so exasperating in that?" 
 
 " God's thunder ! nothing at all except that we 
 are fooled." 
 
 When the commandant gave vent to this military 
 oath (an object it must be said of Republican atheistical 
 remonstrance) it gave warning of a storm ; the diverse 
 intonations of the words were degrees of a thermometer 
 by which the brigade could judge of the patience of its 
 commander ; the old soldier's frankness of nature had
 
 72 The Chouans. 
 
 made this knowledge so easy that the veriest little 
 drummer-boy knew his Ilulot by heart, simply by ob- 
 serving the variations of the grimace with which the 
 commander screwed up his cheek and snapped his 
 e}"cs and vented Ins oath. On this occasion the tone 
 of smothered rage with which he uttered the words 
 made his two friends silent and circumspect. Even the 
 pits of the small-pox which dented that veteran face 
 seemed deeper, and the skin itself browner than usual. 
 His broad queue, braided at the edges, had fallen upon 
 one of his epaulettes as he replaced his three-cornered 
 hat, and he flung it back with such fury that the ends 
 became untied. However, as he stood stock-still, his 
 hands clenched, his arms crossed tightly over his breast, 
 his mustache bristling, Gerard ventured to ask him pres- 
 ently : " Are we to start at once? " 
 
 "Yes, if the men have ammunition." 
 
 "They have." 
 
 " Shoulder arms ! Left wheel, forward, march ! " 
 cried Gerard, at a sign from the commandant. 
 
 The drum-corps inarched at the head of the two com- 
 panies designated by Gerard. At the first roll of the 
 drums the commandant, who still stood plunged in 
 thought, seemed to rouse himself, and he left the town 
 accompanied by his two officers, to whom he said not a 
 word. Merle and Gerard looked at each other silently 
 as if to ask. " How long is he going to keep us in sus- 
 pense? " and, as they marched, they cautiously kept an 
 observing eye on their leader, who continued to vent 
 rambling words between his teeth. Several times these 
 vague phrases sounded like oaths in the cars of his sol- 
 diers, but not one of them dared to utter a word ; for 
 they all, when occasion demanded, maintained the stern
 
 The Chouans. 73 
 
 discipline to which the veterans who had served under 
 Bonaparte in Italy were accustomed. The greater part 
 of them had belonged, like Ilulot, to the famous bat- 
 talions which capitulated at Mayenne under a promise 
 not to serve again on the frontier, and the army called 
 them '' Les Mayenqais." It would be difficult to find 
 leaders and men who more thoroughly understood each 
 other. 
 
 At dawn of the day after their departure Ilulot and 
 his troop were on the high-road to Alencon, about three 
 miles from that town towards Mortagne, at a part of 
 the road which leads through pastures watered by the 
 Sarthe. A picturesque vista of these meadows la} r to 
 the left, while the woodlands on the right winch flank 
 the road and join the great forest of Menil-Broust, serve 
 as a foil to the delightful aspect of the river-scenery. 
 The narrow causeway is bordered on each side by 
 ditches the soil of which, being constantly thrown out 
 upon the fields, has formed high banks covered with 
 furze, the name given throughout the West to the 
 prickly gorse. This shrub, which spreads itself in thorny 
 masses, makes excellent fodder in winter for horses 
 and cattle ; but as long as it was not cut the Chouans 
 hid themselves behind its breastwork of dull green. 
 These banks bristling with gorse, signifying to travel- 
 lers their approach to Brittany, made this part of the 
 road at the period of which we write as dangerous as 
 it was beautiful ; it was these dangers which compelled 
 the hasty departure of Ilulot and his soldiers, and it 
 was here that he at last let out the secret of his wrath. 
 
 lie was now on his return, escorting an old mail- 
 coach drawn by post-horses, which the weariness of his 
 soldiers, after their forced march, was compelling to ad-
 
 74 The Chouans. 
 
 vance at a snail's pace. The company of Blues from 
 the garrison at Mortagne, who had escorted the rickety 
 vehicle to the limits of their district, where Hulot and 
 his men had met them, could be seen in the distance, 
 on their wa} T back to their quarters, like so many black 
 specks. One of Hulot' s companies was in the rear, 
 the other in advance of the carriage. The comman- 
 dant, who was marching with Merle and Gerard be- 
 tween the advance guard and the carriage, suddenly 
 growled out : " Ten thousand thunders ! would you be- 
 believe that the general detached us from Mayenne to 
 escort two petticoats ? " 
 
 '' But, commandant," remarked Gerard, " when we 
 came up just now and took charge I observed that you 
 bowed to them not ungraciously." 
 
 " Ila ! that 's the infamy of it. Those dandies in 
 Paris ordered the greatest attention paid to their 
 damned females. How dare the}- dishonor good and 
 brave patriots by trailing us after petticoats? As for 
 me, I march straight, and I don't choose to have to do 
 with other people's zigzags. When I saw Danton tak- 
 ing mistresses, and Barras too, I said to them : ' Citi- 
 zens, when the Republic called 3*011 to govern, it was 
 not that you might authorize the vices of the old 
 regime.' You may tell me that women oh yes ! we 
 must have women, that's all right. Good soldiers of 
 course must have women, and good women ; but in 
 times of danger, no ! Besides, where would be the 
 good of sweeping away the old abuses if patriots bring 
 them back again? Look at the First Consul, there's 
 a man ! no women for him ; ahvays about his business. 
 I'd bet my left inushiehc that he doesn't know the 
 fool's errand \ve 'vo been sent on !"
 
 The Chouans. 75 
 
 "But, commandant," said Merle, laughing, " I have 
 seen the tip-end of the nose oi' the young lady, and 
 1 '11 declare the whole world need n't be ashamed to 
 feel an itch, as I do, to revolve round that carriage and 
 get up a bit of a conversation." 
 
 " Look out, Merle,'' said (u'rard ; " the veiled beau- 
 ties have a man accompairying them who seems wily 
 enough to catch you in a trap." 
 
 "Who? that incro i/able whose little eyes are ferret- 
 ting from one side of the road to the other, as if he 
 saw Chouans? The fellow seems to have no legs; the 
 moment his horse is hidden In* the carriage, he looks 
 like a duck with its head sticking out of a pate. If 
 that booby can hinder me from kissing the pretty 
 linnet " 
 
 "'Duck' ! 'linnet' ! oh, my poor Merle, you have taken 
 wings indeed ! But don't trust the duck. His green 
 e}'es are as treacherous as the eyes of a snake, and as 
 sly as those of a woman who forgives her husband. I 
 distrust the Chouans much less than I do those lawyers 
 whose faces are like bottles of lemonade." 
 
 "Pooh!" cried Merle, gayly. "I'll risk it with 
 the commandant's permission. That woman has eyes 
 like stars, and it's worth playing an}" stakes to see 
 them." 
 
 "Caught, poor fellow!" said Gerard to the com- 
 mandant ; " he is beginning to talk nonsense ! " 
 
 Ilulot made a face, shrugged his shoulders, and 
 said: "Before he swallows the soup, I advise him 
 to smell it." 
 
 " Bravo, Merle," said Gerard, judging by his friend's 
 lagging step that he meant to let the carriage overtake 
 him. " Isn't he a happy fellow? lie is the only man
 
 76 The Chouans. 
 
 I know who can laugh over the death of a comrade 
 without being thought unfeeling." 
 
 "He's the true French soldier," said Hulot, in a 
 grave tone. 
 
 "Just look at him pulling his epaulets back to his 
 shoulders, to show lie is a captain," cried Gerard, 
 laughing. "as if his rank mattered!" 
 
 The coach toward which the ollicer was pivoting did, 
 in fact, contain two women, one of whom seemed to 
 be the servant of the other. 
 
 " Such women always run in couples," said Hulot. 
 
 A lean and sharp-looking little man ambled his horse 
 sometimes before, sometimes behind the carnage ; but, 
 though he was evidently accompanying these privileged 
 women, no one had yet seen him speak to them. This 
 silence, a proof of either respect or contempt, as the 
 case might be ; the quantity of baggage belonging to 
 the lad}', whom the commandant sneeringly called "the 
 princess ; '' everything, even to the clothes of her at- 
 tendant squire, stirred Ilulot's bile. The dress of the 
 unknown man was a good specimen of the fashions of 
 the day then being caricatured as ' incroyable." un- 
 believable, unless seen. Imagine a person trussed up in 
 a coat, the front of which was so short that five or six 
 inches of the waistcoat came below it, while the skirts 
 were so long that they hung down behind like the tail 
 of a cod,- the term then used to describe them. An 
 enormous cravat was wound about his neck in so many 
 folds that the little head which protruded from that 
 muslin labyrinth certainly did justify Captain Merle's 
 comparison. The stranger also wore tight-fitting trou- 
 sers and Suwaroff boots. A huge blue-and-whitc cameo 
 pinned his shirt; two watch-chains hung from his belt;
 
 The Chouans. 77 
 
 his hair, worn in ringlets on each side his face, con- 
 cealed nearly the whole forehead ; and, for a last adorn- 
 ment, the collar of his shirt and that of his coat came 
 so high that his head seemed enveloped like a bunch of 
 flowers in a horn of paper. Add to these queer acces- 
 sories, which were combined in utter want of harmony, 
 the burlesque contradictions in color of yellow trousers, 
 scarlet waistcoat, cinnamon coat, and a correct idea 
 will he gained of the supreme good taste which all 
 dandies blindly obeyed in the first years of the Con- 
 sulate. This costume, utterly uncouth, seemed to have 
 been invented as a final test of grace, and to show that 
 there was nothing too ridiculous for fashion to conse- 
 crate. The rider seemed to be about thirty years old, 
 but he was really twenty-two ; perhaps he owed this 
 appearance of age to debauchery, possibly to the perils 
 of the period. In spite of his preposterous dress, he 
 had a certain elegance of manner which proved him 
 to be a man of some breeding. 
 
 When the captain had dropped back close to the 
 carriage, the dandy seemed to fathom his design, and 
 favored it by checking his horse. Merle, who had 
 flung him a sardonic glance, encountered one of those 
 impenetrable faces, trained by the vicissitudes of the 
 Revolution to hide all, even the most insignificant, 
 emotion. The moment the curved end of the old tri- 
 angular hat and the captain's epaulets were seen by 
 the occupants of the carriage, a voice of angelic sweet- 
 ness said : " Monsieur 1'officier, will you have the kind- 
 ness to tell us at what part of the road we now are ? " 
 
 There is some inexpressible charm in the question 
 of an unknown traveller, if a woman, a world of ad- 
 venture is in every word ; but if the woman asks for
 
 78 The Chouans. 
 
 assistance or information, proving her weakness or ig- 
 norance of certain tilings, every man is inclined to 
 construct some impossible tale which shall lead to his 
 happiness. The words, " Monsieur 1'officier," and the 
 polite tone of the question stirred the captain's heart 
 in a manner hitherto unknown to him. He tried to 
 examine the lady, but was cruelly disappointed, for a 
 jealous veil concealed her features ; he could barely see 
 her eyes, which shone through the gauze like onyx 
 gleaming in the sunshine. 
 
 " You are now three miles from Alencon, madame," 
 he replied. 
 
 " Alencon! already!" and the lady threw herself, 
 or, rather, she gently leaned back in the carriage, and 
 said no more. 
 
 " Alencon? " said the other woman, apparently wak- 
 ing up ; ''then you '11 see it again." 
 
 She caught sight of the captain and was silent. 
 Merle, disappointed in his hope of seeing the face of 
 the beautiful incognita, began to examine that of her 
 companion. She was a girl about twenty six years 
 of age, fair, with a pretty figure and the sort of com- 
 plexion, fresh and white and well-fed, which character- 
 izes the women of Valognes, Bayeux, and the environs 
 of Aleneon. Her blue eyes showed no great intelli- 
 gence, but a certain firmness mingled with tender feeling. 
 She wore a gown of some common woollen stuff. The 
 fashion of her hair, done up closely under a Norman 
 cap, without any pretension, gave a charming simplicity 
 to her face. Her attitude, without, of course, having 
 an}' of the conventional nobility of society, was not with- 
 out the natural dignity of a modest young girl, who can 
 look back upon her past life without a single cause for
 
 The Chouans. 79 
 
 repentance. Merle knew lier at a glance for one of 
 those wild flowers which arc sometimes taken from 
 their native fields to Parisian hot-houses, where so 
 main' blasting rays are concentrated, without ever losing 
 the purity of their color or their rustic simplicity. 
 The naive attitude of the girl and her modest glance 
 showed Merle very plainly that she did not wish a lis- 
 tener. In fact, no sooner had he withdrawn than the 
 two women began a conversation in so low a tone that 
 only a murmur of it reached his ear. 
 
 "You came away in such a hurry," said the country- 
 girl, " that you hardly took time to dress. A pretty- 
 looking sight you are now ! If we are going beyond 
 Alencon you must really make yonr toilet." 
 
 " Oh ! oh ! Francine ! " cried the lad}*. 
 
 "What is it?" 
 
 "This is the third time you have tried to make me 
 tell you the reasons for this journey and where we are 
 going." 
 
 " Have I said one single word which deserves that 
 reproach ? " 
 
 'Oh, I've noticed 3*0111* manoeuvring. Simple and 
 truthful as 3*011 are, } T OU have learned a little cunning 
 from me. You are beginning to hold questioning in 
 horror ; and right enough, too, for of all the known 
 ways of getting at a secret, questions are, to 1113* mind, 
 the silliest." 
 
 " Well," said Francine, " since nothing escapes you, 
 3'ou must admit, Marie, that your conduct would excite 
 the curiosity of a saint. Yesterday without a penny, 
 to-day your hands are full of gold ; at Mortagne they 
 give 3*011 the mail-coach which was pillaged and the 
 driver killed, with government troops to protect }'ou,
 
 80 The Chonans. 
 
 and you are followed by a man whom I regard as your 
 evil genius." 
 
 'Who? Corent'm?" said the 3-011 ng lady, accenting 
 the words by two inflections of her voice expressive of 
 contempt, a sentiment which appeared in the gesture 
 with which she waved her hand towards the rider. 
 "Listen, Francine," she said. "Do you remember 
 Patriot, the monkey I taught to imitate Danton?" 
 
 " Yes, mademoiselle." 
 
 " Well, were you afraid of him? " 
 
 " He was chained." 
 
 "And Corentin is muzzled, my dear." 
 
 " We used to play with Patriot by the hour," said 
 Francine, "I know that ; but he always ended by 
 serving us some bad trick." So saying, Francine threw 
 herself hastily back close to her mistress, whose hands 
 she caught and kissed in a coaxing way ; saying in a 
 tone of deep affection: "You know what 1 moan, 
 Marie, but you will not answer me. How can you. after 
 all that sadness which did so grieve me oh. indeed 
 it grieved me ! how can you, in twenty-four hours, 
 change about and become so gay? }"ou, who talked of 
 suicide! Why have you changed? I have a right to 
 ask these questions of your soul it is mine, my claim 
 to it is before that of others, for you will never be better 
 loved than you are by rne. Speak, mademoiselle." 
 
 "Why, Francine. don't you see all around you the 
 secret of my good spirits? Look at the yellowing tufts 
 of those distant tree-tops ; not one is like another. As 
 we look at them from this distance don't they seem like 
 an old bit of tapestry? See the hedges from behind 
 which the Cliouans may spring upon us at any moment. 
 "When I look at that jjorse I 1'ancv I can see the mux/des
 
 The Chouans. 81 
 
 of their guns. Every time the road is shad)* under 
 the trees I fancy I shall hear firing, and then my heart 
 beats and a new sensation conies over me. It is neither 
 the shuddering of tear nor an emotion of pleasure ; no, 
 it is better than either, it is the stirring of even-thing 
 within me it is life ! Why should n't I be gay when 
 a little excitement is dropped into my monotonous 
 existence? " 
 
 "Ah! you are telling me nothing, cruel girl! Holy 
 Virgin ! " added Francine, raising her eyes in distress 
 to heaven; '-to whom will she confess herself if she 
 denies the truth to me ? " 
 
 " Francine," said the lady, in a grave tone, " I can't 
 explain to you my present enterprise ; it is horrible." 
 
 " Wh}* do wrong when you know it to be wrong ? " 
 
 " How can I help it? I catch myself thinking as if 
 I were fifty, and acting as if I were still fifteen. You 
 have always been my better self, my poor Francine, but 
 in this affair I must stifle conscience. And," she 
 added after a pause, with a deep sigh. *'' I cannot. 
 Therefore, how can yon expect me to take a confessor 
 as stern as you? " and she patted the girl's hand. 
 
 "When did I ever blame your actions?" cried 
 Francine. "Evil is so mixed with good in your 
 nature. Yes, Saint Anne of Auray, to whom I pray 
 to save you, will absolve you for all you do. And, 
 Marie, am I not here beside you, without so much 
 as knowing where you go?" and she kissed her 
 hands with effusion. 
 
 "But." replied Marie, "you may yet desert me, 
 if your conscience " 
 
 " Hush, hush, mademoiselle," cried Francine, with 
 a hurt expression. " But surely 3*011 will tell me "
 
 82 The Chouans. 
 
 "Nothing!'' said the young lad}', in a resolute 
 voice. "Only and I wish you to know it I hate 
 this enterprise even more than I hate him whose gilded 
 tongue induced me to undertake it. I will be frank 
 and own to you that I would never have yielded to 
 their wishes if I had not foreseen, in this ignoble 
 farce, a mingling of love and danger which tempted 
 me. I cannot bear to leave this empt}- world without 
 at least attempting to gather the flowers that it owes 
 me, whether I perish in the attempt or not. But 
 remember, for the honor of my memory, that had I 
 ever been a happy woman, the sight of their great knife, 
 read}' to fall upon my neck, would not have driven me 
 to accept a part in this tragedy for it is a traged}'. 
 But now," she said, with a gesture of disgust. ' if it 
 were countermanded, I should instantly iling m\'self 
 into the Sarthe. It would not be destroying life, for 
 I have never lived." 
 
 " Oh, Saint Anne of Auray, forgive her ! " 
 
 " What are you so afraid of ? You know very well that 
 the dull round of domestic life gives no opportunity for 
 my passions. That would be bad in most women, I 
 admit ; but my soul is made of a higher sensibility and 
 can bear great tests. I might have been, perhaps, a 
 gentle being like you. Why, why have I risen above 
 or sunk beneath the level of my sex? Ah ! the wife of 
 Bonaparte is a happj" woman ! Yes, I shall die young, 
 for I am gay, as you say, gay at this pleasure-party, 
 where there is blood to drink, as that poor Danton used 
 to say. There, there, forget what I am saying : it 
 is the woman of fifty who speaks. Thank God! the 
 girl of fifteen is still within me." 
 
 The young country-girl shuddered. She alone knew
 
 The Chouans. 83 
 
 the fiery, impetuous nature of her mistress. She alone 
 was initiated into the mysteries of a soul rich with 
 enthusiasm, into the secret emotions of a being who, 
 up to this time, had seen life pass her like a shadow 
 she could not grasp, eager as she was to do so. After 
 sowing broadcast with full hands and harvesting noth- 
 ing, this woman was still virgin in soul, but irritated by 
 a multitude of baffled desires. Weary of a struggle 
 without an adversary, she had reached in her despair to 
 the point of preferring good to evil, if it came in the 
 form of enjoyment ; evil to good, if it offered her some 
 poetic emotion ; misery to mediocrity, as something 
 nobler and higher ; the gloomy and mysterious future 
 of present death to a life without hopes or even with- 
 out sufferings. Never in any heart was so much 
 powder heaped ready for the spark, never were so many 
 riches for love to feed on ; no daughter of Eve was ever 
 moulded, with a greater mixture of gold in her clay. 
 Francine, like an angel of earth, watched over this 
 being whose perfections she adored, believing that she 
 obeyed a celestial mandate in striving to bring that 
 spirit back among the choir of seraphim whence it was 
 banished for the sin of pride. 
 
 "There is the clock- tower of Alengon," said the 
 horseman, riding up to the cai'riagc. 
 
 "I see it," replied the young lad}", in a cold tone. 
 
 " Ah, well," he said, turning away with all the signs of 
 servile submission, in spite of his disappointment. 
 
 " Go faster," said the lad}- to the postilion. "There 
 is no longer any danger ; go at a fast trot, or even a 
 gallop, if you can ; we are almost into Alengon." 
 
 As the carriage passed the commandant, she called 
 out to him, in a sweet voice :
 
 84 The Chouans. 
 
 "We will meet at the inn, commandant. Come and 
 see me." 
 
 " Yes, yes," growled the commandant. " ' The inn ' ! 
 ' Come and see me ' ! Is that how you speak to an officer 
 in command of the army?" and he shook his fist at the 
 carriage, which was now rolling rapidly along the road. 
 
 "Don't be vexed, commandant, she has got your 
 rank as general up her sleeve," said Corentin, laugh- 
 ing, as he endeavored to put his horse into a gallop to 
 overtake the carriage. 
 
 " I sha'n't let myself be fooled by any such folks as 
 they," said Hulot to his two friends, in a growling 
 tone. " I 'd rather throw my general's coat into that 
 ditch than earn it out of a bed. What are these birds 
 after? Have you any idea, either of you?" 
 
 "Yes," said Merle, "I've an idea that that's the 
 handsomest woman I ever saw ! I think }'ou 're read- 
 ing the riddle all wrong. Perhaps she 's the wife of the 
 First Consul." 
 
 ''Pooh! the First Consul's wife is old, and this 
 woman is young," said Hulot. "Besides, the order I 
 received from the minister gives her name as Made- 
 moiselle de Verneuil. She is a ci-devant. Don't I 
 know 'em ? They all plied one trade before the Revo- 
 lution, and any man could make himself a major, or a 
 general in double-quick time ; all he had to do was to 
 say ' Dear heart' to them now and then." 
 
 While each soldier opened his compasses, as the com- 
 mandant was wont to say, the miserable vehicle which 
 was then used as the mail-coach drew up before the 
 inn of the Trois Maures, in the middle of the main 
 street of Alengon. The sound of the wheels brought 
 the landlord to the door. No one in Alencon could
 
 The Chouans. 85 
 
 haA r e expected the arrival of the mail-coach at the 
 Trois Maures, for the murderous attack upon the 
 coach at Mortagne was already known, and so many 
 people followed it along the street that the two wo- 
 men, anxious to escape the curiosity of the crowd, ran 
 quickly into the kitchen, which forms the inevitable 
 antechamber to all Western inns. The landlord was 
 about to follow them, after examining the coach, when 
 the postilion caught him by the arm. 
 
 "Attention, citizen Brutus," he said; "there's an 
 escort of the Blues behind us ; but it is I who bring 3-011 
 these female citizens; they'll pay like ci-devant prin- 
 cesses, therefore " 
 
 " Therefore, we '11 drink a glass of wine together 
 presently, my lad," said the landlord. 
 
 After glancing about the kitchen, blackened with 
 smoke, and noticing a table bloody from raw meat, 
 Mademoiselle de Verneuil flew into the next room with 
 the celerity of a bird ; for she shuddered at the sight 
 and smell of the place, and feared the inquisitive eyes 
 of a dirt}' chef, and a fat little woman who examined 
 her attentively. 
 
 "What are we to do, wife?" said the landlord. 
 "Who the devil could have supposed we would have 
 so many on our hands in these days? Before I serve 
 her a decent breakfast that woman will get impatient. 
 Stop, an idea! evidently she is a person of quality. 
 I '11 propose to put her with the one we have upstairs. 
 What do you think?" 
 
 When the landlord went to look for the new arrival 
 he found only Francine, to whom he spoke in a low 
 voice, taking her to the farther end of the kitchen, so 
 as not to be overheard.
 
 86 The Chouans. 
 
 "If the ladies wish," he said, "to be served in 
 private, as I have no doubt they do, I have a very nice 
 breakfast all ready for a lad}* and her son, and I dare 
 say would n't mind sharing it with you ; they are per- 
 sons of condition," he added, mysteriously. 
 
 He had hardly said the words before he felt a tap on 
 his back from the handle of a whip. He turned hastil}' 
 and saw behind him a short, thick-set man, who had 
 noiselessly entered from a side room, an apparition 
 which seemed to terrify the hostess, the cook, and the 
 scullion. The landlord turned pale when he saw the 
 intruder, who shook back the hair which concealed his 
 forehead and eyes, raised himself on the points of his 
 toes to reach the other's ears, and said to him in a 
 whisper: "You know the cost of an imprudence or a 
 betrayal, and the color of the money we pay it in. We 
 are generous in that coin." 
 
 He added a gesture which was like a horrible com- 
 mentary to his words. Though the rotundity of the 
 landlord prevented Francine from seeing the stranger, 
 who stood behind him, she caught certain words of his 
 threatening speech, and was thunderstruck at hearing 
 the hoarse tones of a Breton voice. She sprang towards 
 the man, but he, seeming to move with the agility of a 
 wild animal, had already darted through a side door 
 which opened on the courtyard. Utterly amazed, she 
 ran to the window. Through its panes, yellowed with 
 smoke, she caught sight of the stranger as he was about 
 to enter the stable. Before doing so. however, he 
 turned a pair of black eyes to the upper story of the 
 inn, and thence to the mail-coach in the yard, as if to 
 call some friend's attention to the vehicle. In spite of 
 his muffling; goatskin and thanks to this movement
 
 T/; Cho uana. 87 
 
 which allowed her to see his face, Francine recognized 
 the Chouan, Marche-k-Terre, with his heavy whip ; she 
 saw him, indistinctly, in the obscurity of the stable, 
 fling himself down on a pile of straw, in a position 
 which enabled him to keep an eye on all that happened 
 at the inn. Marche-a-Terre curled himself up in such 
 a way that the cleverest spy, at any distance far or 
 near, might have taken him for one of those huge dogs 
 that drag the hand-carts, lying asleep with his muzzle 
 on his paws. 
 
 The behavior of the Chouan proved to Francine that 
 he had not recognized her. Under the hazardous cir- 
 cumstances which she felt her mistress to be in, she 
 scarcely knew whether to regret or to rejoice in this 
 unconsciousness. But the mysterious connection be- 
 tween the landlord's offer (not uncommon among inn- 
 keepers, who can thus kill two birds with one stone), 
 and the Chouan's threats, piqued her curiosity. She 
 left the dirty window from which she could see the 
 formless heap which she knew to be Marche-a-Terre, 
 and returned to the landlord, who was still standing in 
 the attitude of a man who feels he has made a blunder, 
 and does not know how to get out of it. The Chouan's 
 gesture had petrified the poor fellow. No one in the 
 West was ignorant of the cruel refinements of torture 
 with which the " Chasseurs du Roi " punished those who 
 were even suspected of indiscretion : the landlord felt 
 their knives already at his throat. The cook looked 
 with a shudder at the iron stove on which the}- often 
 "warmed" (" chauiTaient ") the feet of those they sus- 
 pected. The fat landlady held a knife in one hand and 
 a half-peeled potato in the other, and gazed at her hus- 
 band with a stupefied air. Even the scullion puzzled
 
 88 The Chouans. 
 
 himself to know the reason of their speechless terror. 
 Francine's curiosity was naturally excited by this si- 
 lent scene, the principal actor of which was visible to all, 
 though departed. The girl was gratified at the evident 
 power of the Chouan, and though by nature too simple 
 and humble for the tricks of a lady's maid, she was also 
 far too anxious to penetrate the mystery not to profit 
 by her advantages on this occasion. 
 
 " Mademoiselle accepts your proposal," she said to 
 the landlord, who jumped as if suddenly awakened by 
 her words. 
 
 " What proposal?" he asked with genuine surprise. 
 
 "What proposal?" asked Corentin, entering the 
 kitchen. 
 
 "What proposal?" asked Mademoiselle cle Verneuil, 
 returning to it. 
 
 "What proposal?'' asked a fourth individual on the 
 lower step of the staircase, who now sprang lightly into 
 the kitchen. 
 
 '' Why the breakfast with your persons of distinc- 
 tion," replied Francine, impatiently. 
 
 "Distinction ! " said the ringing and ironical voice ol 
 the person who had just come down the stairway. 
 ' My good fellow, that strikes me as a very poor inn 
 joke ; but if it 's the company of this young female citi- 
 zen that you want to give us, we should be fools to re- 
 fuse it. In my mother's absence, I accept," he added, 
 striking the astonished inn-keeper on the shoulder. 
 
 The charming heedlessness of youth disguised the 
 haughty insolence of the words, which drew the atten- 
 tion of every one present to the new-comer. The land- 
 lord at once assumed the countenance of Pilate washin^ 
 
 o 
 
 his hands of the blood of that just man ; he slid back
 
 The Choiians. 89 
 
 two steps to reach his wife's ear, and whispered, "You 
 are witness, if any harm conies of it, that it is not my 
 fault. But, anyhow," he added, in a voice that was 
 lower still, " go and tell Monsieur Marche-a-Terre what 
 has happened." 
 
 The traveller, who was a young man of medium 
 height, wore a dark blue coat and high black gaiters 
 coming above the knee and over the breeches, which 
 were also of blue cloth. This simple uniform, with- 
 out epaulets, was that of the pupils of the Ecole Poly- 
 technique. Beneath this plain attire Mademoiselle de 
 Verneuil could distinguish at a glance the elegant shape 
 and nameless sometJiing that tells of natural nobility. 
 The face of the young man, which was rather ordinary 
 at first sight, soon attracted the eye by the conforma- 
 tion of certain features which revealed a soul capable 
 of great things. A bronzed skin, curl}* fair hair, spark- 
 ling blue eyes, a delicate nose, motions full of ease, all 
 disclosed a life guided by noble sentiments and trained 
 to the habit of command. But the most characteristic 
 signs of his nature were in the chin, which was dented 
 like that of Bonaparte, and in the lower lip, which 
 joined the upper one with a graceful curve, like that of 
 an acanthus leaf on the capital of a Corinthian column. 
 Nature had given to these two features of his face an 
 irresistible charm. 
 
 " This young man has singular distinction if he is 
 really a republican," thought Mademoiselle de Verneuil. 
 
 To see all this at a glance, to brighten at the thought 
 of pleasing, to bend her head softly and smile coquet- 
 tishly and cast a soft look able to revive a heart that 
 was dead to love, to veil her long black eyes with lids 
 whose curving lashes made shadows on her cheeks, to
 
 00 The C/iouans. 
 
 choose the melodious tones of her voice and give a 
 penetrating charm to the formal words, " Monsieur, we 
 are very much obliged to you," all this charming 
 by-play took less time than it has taken to describe 
 it. After this, Mademoiselle de Verneuil, addressing 
 the landlord, asked to be shown to a room, saw the 
 staircase, and disappeared with Francine, leaving the 
 stranger to discover whether her reply was intended 
 as an acceptance or a refusal. 
 
 'Who is that woman?" asked the Polytechnique 
 student, in an airy manner, of the landlord, who still 
 stood motionless and bewildered. 
 
 "That's the female citizen Vcrneuil," replied Coren- 
 lin, sharply, looking jealously at the questioner; "a 
 ci-devant ; what is she to }"ou? " 
 
 The stranger, who was humming a revolutionary tune, 
 turned his head haughtily towards Corentin. The two 
 young men looked at each other for a moment like 
 cocks about to light, and the glance they exchanged 
 gave birth to a hatred which lasted forever. The blue 
 eye of the young soldier was as frank and honest as the 
 green eye of the other man was false and malicious ; 
 the manners of the one had native grandeur, those of 
 the other were insinuating ; one was eager in his ad- 
 vance, the other deprecating ; one commanded respect, 
 the other sought it. 
 
 " Is the citizen dti Gtia Saint-Cyr here? " said a peas- 
 ant, entering the kitchen at that moment. 
 
 'What do you want of him?" said the young man, 
 coining forward. 
 
 The peasant made a low bow and gave him a letter, 
 which the young cadet read and threw into the lire; 
 then he nodded his head and the man withdrew.
 
 The Chouans. 91 
 
 " No doubt you *ve come from Paris, citizen ? " said 
 Corentin, approaching the stranger with a certain ease 
 of manner, and a pliant, affable air which seemed intol- 
 erable to the citizen du Gua. 
 
 " Yes," he replied, shortly. 
 
 " I suppose you have been graduated into some 
 grade of the artillery ? " 
 
 " No, citizen, into the navy." 
 
 " Ah ! then you are going to Brest ? " said Corentin, 
 interrogatively. 
 
 But the young sailor turned lightly on the heels of 
 his shoes without deigning to reply, and presently dis- 
 appointed all the expectations which Mademoiselle de 
 Verneuil had based on the charm of his appearance. 
 He applied himself to ordering his breakfast with the 
 eagerness of a boy, questioned the cook and the land- 
 lady about their receipts, wondered at provincial cus- 
 toms like a Parisian just out of his shell, made as 
 man}* objections as any fine lad}', and showed the more 
 lack of mind and character because his face and man- 
 ners had seemed to promise them. Corentin smiled with 
 pity when he saw the face he made on tasting the best 
 cider of Normandy. 
 
 " lieu ! " he cried ; "how can you swallow such stuff 
 as that? It is meat and drink both. I don't wonder 
 the Republic distrusts a province where they knock their 
 harvest from trees with poles, and shoot travellers from 
 the ditches. Pray don't put such medicine as that on 
 the table ; give us some good Bordeaux, white and red. 
 And above all, do see if there is a good fire upstairs. 
 These country-people are so backward in civilization ! " 
 he added. " Alas ! " sighing, " there is but one Paris in 
 the world ; what a pity it is I can't transpot it to sea!
 
 92 The Chouans. 
 
 Heavens ! spoil-sauce ! " he suddenly cried out to tha 
 cook;" what makes you put vinegar in that fricassee 
 when you have lemons? And, madame," he added, 
 "you gave me such coarse sheets I couldn't close my 
 eyes all night." Then he began to twirl a huge cane, 
 executing with a silly sort of care a variety of evolu- 
 tions, the greater or less precision and agility of which 
 were considered proofs of a 3'oung man's standing in 
 the class of the Incroyables, so-called. 
 
 "And it is with such dandies as that," said Corentin 
 to the landlord confidentially, watching his face, " that 
 the Republic expects to improve her navy ! " 
 
 "That man," said the young sailor to the landlad}', 
 in a low voice, " is a spy of Fouche's. He has ' police,' 
 stamped on his face, and I '11 swear that spot he has got 
 on his chin is Paris mud. Well, set a thief to catch " 
 
 Just then a lad}* to whom the young sailor turned 
 with every sign of outward respect, entered the kitchen 
 of the inn. 
 
 "My dear mamma." he said. "I am glad you've 
 come. I have recruited some guests in your absence." 
 
 " Guests? " she replied : " what folly I " 
 
 " It is Mademoiselle de Yemeni!,' 7 he said in a low 
 voice. 
 
 " She perished on the scaffold after the affair of Save- 
 nay , she went to Mans to save her brother the Prince 
 de London," returned his mother, rather brusquely. 
 
 "You arc; mistaken, madame," said Corentin, gently, 
 emphasizing the word "madame;" " there are two 
 demoiselles de Vernenil ; all great houses, as you know, 
 have several branches." 
 
 The lady, surprised at this freedom, drew back a few 
 steps to examine the speaker ; she turned her black
 
 The Chouans. 93 
 
 eyes upon him, full of the keen sagacit}^ so natural to 
 women, seeking apparently to discover in what interest 
 he stepped forth to explain Mademoiselle de Verneuil's 
 birth. Corentin, on the other hand, who was studying 
 the lad}" cautiously, denied her in his own mind the joys 
 of motherhood and gave her those of love ; he refused the 
 possession of a son of twenty to a woman whose daz- 
 zling skin, and arched eyebrows, and lashes still un- 
 blemished, were the objects of his admiration, and 
 whose abundant black hair, parted on the forehead into 
 simple bands, brought out the youthfulness of an intel- 
 ligent head. The slight lines of the brow, far from in- 
 dicating age, revealed young passions. Though the 
 piercing eyes were somewhat veiled, it was either from 
 the fatigue of travelling or the too frequent expression of 
 excitement. Corentin remarked that she was wrapped in 
 a mantle of English material, and that the shape of her 
 hat, foreign no doubt, did not belong to any of the styles 
 called Greek, which ruled the Parisian fashions of the 
 period. Corentin was one of those beings who are 
 compelled by the bent of their natures to suspect evil 
 rather than good, and he instantly doubted the citizen- 
 ship of the two travellers. The lad}*, who, on her side, 
 had made her observations on the person of Corentin 
 with equal rapidity, turned to her son with a significant 
 look which may be faithfully translated into the words : 
 " Who is this queer man? Is he of our stripe ? " 
 
 To this mute inquiry the j'outh replied by an atti- 
 tude and a gesture which said : " Faith ! I can't tell ; 
 but I distrust him. Then, leaving his mother to fathom 
 the m3'stery, he turned to the landlady and whispered : 
 " Try to find out who that fellow is ; and whether he 
 is really accompanying the young lady ; and why."
 
 94 TJie Chouans. 
 
 " So," said Madame da Gna, looking at Corentin, 
 "you are quite sure, citizen, that Mademoiselle de Yep- 
 neuil is living? " 
 
 " She is living in flesh and blood as surely, madame, 
 as the citizen du Gua Saint-Cyr." 
 
 This answer contained a sarcasm, the hidden meaning 
 of which was known to none but the lady herself, and 
 airy one but herself would have been disconcerted by 
 it. Her son looked fixedly at Corentin. who coolly 
 pulled out his watch without appearing to notice the 
 effect of his answer. The lady, uneasy and anxious to 
 discover at once if the speech meant danger or was 
 merely accidental, said to Corentin in a natural tone 
 and manner: "How little security there is on these 
 roads. We were attacked by Chouans just beyond 
 Mortagne. My son came very near being killed ; he 
 received two balls in his hat while protecting me." 
 
 "Is it possible, madame? were you in the mail- 
 coach which those brigands robbed in spite of the es- 
 cort, the one we have just come by ? You must know 
 the vehicle well. They told me at Mortagne that the 
 Chouans numbered a couple of thousands and that 
 eveiy one in the coach was killed, even the travellers. 
 That 's how history is written ! Alas ! madame," he 
 continued, " if they murder travellers so near to Paris 
 you can fancy how unsafe the roads are in Brittany. 1 
 shall return to Paris and not risk myself any farther." 
 
 " Is Mademoiselle de Yerneuil young and hand- 
 some? " said the lady to the hostess, struck suddenly 
 with an idea. 
 
 Just then the landlord interrupted the conversation, 
 in which there was something of an angry element, by 
 announcing that breakfast was ready. The young
 
 The Chouans. 95 
 
 sailor offered his hand to his mother with an air of false 
 familiarity that confirmed the suspicions of Corentin, to 
 whom the youth remarked as he went up the stairway : 
 " Citizen, if you are travelling with the female citizen 
 de Verneuil, and she accepts the landlord's proposal, 
 you can come too." 
 
 Though the words were said in a careless tone and 
 were not inviting, Corentin followed. The young man 
 squeezed the lady's hand when they were five or six 
 steps above him, and said, in a low voice : " Now you 
 see the dangers to which your imprudent enterprises, 
 which have no glory in them, expose us. If we are 
 discovered, how are we to escape? And what a 
 contemptible role you force me to play ! " 
 
 All three reached a large room on the upper floor. 
 Any one who has travelled in the West will know that 
 the landlord had, on such an occasion, brought forth 
 his best things to do honor to his guests, and prepared 
 the meal with no ordinary luxury. The table was care- 
 fully laid. The warmth of a large fire took the damp- 
 ness from the room. The linen, glass, and china were 
 not too dingy. Corentin saw at once that the landlord 
 had, as the}- say familiarly, cut himself in quarters to 
 please the strangers. tk Consequent!}-," thought he, 
 " these people are not what the}- pretend to be. That 
 young man is clever. I took him for a fool, but I begin 
 to believe him as shrewd as myself." 
 
 The sailor, his mother, and Corentin awaited Made- 
 moiselle de Verneuil, whom the landlord went to sum- 
 mon. But the handsome traveller did not come. The 
 youth expected that she would make difficulties, and he 
 left the room, humming the popular song, " Guard the 
 nation's safety," and went to that of Mademoiselle de
 
 96 The (Jhouans. 
 
 Verneuil, prompted by a keen desire to get the better 
 of her scruples and take her back with him. Perhaps 
 he wanted to solve the doubts which filled his mind ; or 
 else to exercise the power which all men like to think 
 they wield over a pretty woman. 
 
 "May I be hanged if he's a Republican," thought 
 Corentin, as he saw him go. "He moves his shoulders 
 like a courtier. And if that's his mother," he added, 
 mentally, looking at Madame du Gua, " I 'm the Pope ! 
 The}' are Chouans ; and I '11 make sure of their quality." 
 
 The door soon opened and the young man entered, 
 holding the hand of Mademoiselle de Verneuil, whom 
 he led to the table with an air of self-conceit that was 
 nevertheless courteous. The devil had not allowed 
 that hour which had elapsed since the lady's arrival 
 to be wasted. With Francine's assistance, Mademoi- 
 selle de Verneuil had armed herself with a travelling- 
 dress more dangerous, perhaps, than any ball-room 
 attire. Its simplicity had precisely that attraction 
 which comes of the skill with which a woman, hand- 
 some enough to wear no ornaments, reduces her dress 
 to the position of u secondary charm. She wore a 
 green gown, elegantly cut, the jacket of which, braided 
 and froggod, defined her figure in a manner that was 
 hardly suitable for a young girl, allowing her supple 
 waist and rounded bust and graceful motions to be 
 fully seen. She entered the room smiling, with the 
 natural amenity of women who can show a fine set of 
 forth, transparent as porcelain between rosy lips, and 
 dimpling cheeks as fresh as those of childhood. Having 
 removed the close hood which had almost concealed 
 her head at her first meeting with the young sailor, she 
 could now employ at her ease the various little artifices,
 
 The Chouans. 97 
 
 apparently so artless, with which a woman shows off 
 the beauties of her lace and the grace of her head, and 
 attracts admiration for them. A certain harmony be- 
 tween her manners and her dress made her seem so 
 much younger than she was that Madame du Gua 
 thought herself beyond the mark in supposing her over 
 twenty. The coquetry of her apparel, evidently worn to 
 please, was enough to inspire hope in the young man's 
 breast ; but Mademoiselle de Verneuil bowed to him, 
 as she took her place, with a slight inclination of her 
 head and without looking at him, putting him aside 
 with an apparently light-hearted carelessness which 
 disconcerted him. This coolness might have seemed 
 to an observer neither caution nor coquetry, but indif- 
 ference, natural or feigned. The candid expression on 
 the young lady's face only made it the more impene- 
 trable. She showed no consciousness of her charms, 
 and was apparently gifted with the pretty manners that 
 win all hearts, and had already duped the natural self- 
 conceit of the young sailor. Thus baflled, the youth 
 returned to his own seat with a sort of vexation. 
 
 Mademoiselle dc Verneuil took Francine, who ac- 
 companied her, by the hand and said, in a caressing 
 voice, turning to Madame de Gua: " Madame, will you 
 have the kindness to allow this young girl, who is more 
 a friend than a servant to me, to sit with us? In these 
 perilous times such devotion as hers can only be repaid 
 by the heart ; indeed, that is very nearly all that is 
 left to us." 
 
 Madame du Gua replied to the last words, which 
 were said half aside, with a rather unceremonious bow 
 that betrayed her annoyance at the beauty of the new- 
 comer. Then she said, in a low voice, to her son :
 
 98 The Chouans. 
 
 "'Perilous times,' 'devotion,' ' madame,' 'servant'! 
 that is not Mademoiselle de Vcrneuil ; it is some girl 
 sent here by Fouche.'' 
 
 The guests were about to sit down when Mademoi- 
 selle de Verneuil noticed Corentin, who was still em- 
 ployed in a close scrutin}' of the mother and son, who 
 were showing some annoyance at his glances. 
 
 " Citizen," she said to him, "you are no doubt too 
 well bred to dog my steps. The Republic, when it 
 sent my parents to the scaffold, did not magnani- 
 mously provide me with a guardian. Though you have, 
 from extreme and chivalric gallantry accompanied me 
 against my will to this place" (she sighed), ''I am 
 quite resolved not to allow your protecting care to 
 become a burden to you. I am safe now, and you 
 can leave me." 
 
 She gave him a fixed and contemptuous look. Co- 
 rentin understood her ; he repressed the smile which 
 almost curled the corners of his wily lips as he bowed 
 to her respectfully. 
 
 " Citoyenne," he said, " it is always an honor to 
 obey you. Beauty is the only queen a Republican 
 can serve." 
 
 Mademoiselle de YerneuH's eyes, as she watched him 
 depart, shone with such natural pleasure, she looked 
 at Fruncine with a smile of intelligence which betrayed 
 so much real satisfaction, that Madame du Ciua, who 
 grew prudent as she grew jealous, felt disposed to 
 relinquish the suspicions which Mademoiselle de Yer- 
 neuil's great be;mtv had forced into her mind. 
 
 ' It may be Mademoiselle de Ycrneuil, after all." 
 she whispered to her son. 
 
 " Hut that escort? " aiiMveied the \ 01111:1 man, whose
 
 The Chouans. 99 
 
 vexation at the young lady's indifference allowed him 
 to be cautions. "Is she a prisoner or an "emissary, a 
 friend or an enemy of the government?" 
 
 Madame du Gua made a sign as if to say that she 
 would soon clear np the mystery. 
 
 However, the departure of Corentin seemed to lessen 
 the young man's distrust, and he begun to cast on 
 Mademoiselle de Verneuil certain looks which betrayed 
 an immoderate admiration for women, rather than the 
 respectful warmth of a dawning passion. The young 
 girl grew more and more reserved, and gave all her 
 attentions to Madame du Gua. The youth, angry 
 with himself, tried, in his vexation, to turn the tables 
 and seem indifferent. Mademoiselle de Verneuil ap- 
 peared not to notice this mano3iivre ; she continued 
 to be simple without shyness and reserved without 
 prudery. 
 
 This chance meeting of personages who, apparently, 
 were not destined to become intimate, awakened no 
 agreeable sympathy on either side. There was even a 
 sort of vulgar embarrassment, an awkwardness which 
 destroyed all the pleasure which Mademoiselle de Ver- 
 neuil and the young sailor had begun by expecting. 
 But women have such wonderful conventional tact, 
 they are so intimately allied with each other, or they 
 have such keen desires for emotion, that they always 
 know how to break the ice on such occasions. Sud- 
 denly, as if the two beauties had the same thought, 
 they began to tease their solitary knight in a playful 
 way, and were soon vying with each other in the 
 jesting attention which they paid to him ; this unan- 
 imity of action left them free. At the end of half 
 an hour, the two women, already secret enemies, were
 
 100 The Chouans. 
 
 apparently the best of friends. The young man then 
 discovered that he felt as angry with Mademoiselle de 
 Verneuil for her friendliness and freedom as he had 
 been with her reserve. In fact, he was so annoyed 
 by it that he regretted, with a sort of dumb anger, 
 having allowed her to breakfast with them. 
 
 "Madame," said Mademoiselle de Verneuil, "is 
 your son always as gloomy as he is at this moment?" 
 
 "Mademoiselle," he replied, ' I ask myself what is 
 the good of a fleeting happiness. The secret of my 
 gloom is the evanescence of my pleasure." 
 
 "That is a madrigal," she said, laughing, "which 
 rings of the Court rather than the Polytechnique." 
 
 " My son only expressed a very natural thought, 
 mademoiselle," said Madame du Gua, who had her own 
 reasons for placating the stranger. 
 
 "Then laugh while you may," said Mademoiselle de 
 Verneuil, smiling at the young man. " How do you 
 look when you have really something to weep for, if 
 what you are pleased to call a happiness makes you 
 so dismal? " 
 
 This smile, accompanied by a provoking glance 
 which destroyed the consistency of her reserve, revived 
 the youth's feelings. But inspired by her nature, which 
 often impels a woman to do either too much or too 
 little under such circumstances, Mademoiselle de Ver- 
 neuil. having covered the young man with that brilliant 
 look full of love's promises, immediately withdrew 
 from his answering expression into a cold and severe 
 modesty, a conventional performance by which a wo- 
 man sometimes hides a true emotion. In a moment, a 
 single moment, when each expected to see the eyelids 
 of the other lowered, they had communicated to one
 
 The Chouans. 101 
 
 another their real thoughts ; but they veiled their glances 
 as quickly as they had mingled them in that one flash 
 which convulsed their hearts and enlightened them. 
 Confused at having said so many things in a single 
 glance, the}" dared no longer look at each other. Made- 
 moiselle de Verneuil withdrew into cold politeness, and 
 seemed to be impatient for the conclusion of the meal. 
 
 " Mademoiselle, you must have suffered very much 
 in prison ? " said Madame du Gua. 
 
 " Alas, madame, I sometimes think that I am still 
 there." 
 
 "Is your escort sent to protect you, mademoiselle, 
 or to watch you? Are you still suspected by the 
 Republic?" 
 
 Mademoiselle de Verneuil felt instinctively that 
 Madame du Gua had no real interest in her, and the 
 question alarmed her. 
 
 "Madame," she replied, "I really do not know 
 myself the exact nature of my relations to the Re- 
 public." 
 
 ' ' Perhaps it fears you ? " said the young man, rather 
 satiricall}'. 
 
 "We must respect her secrets," interposed Madame 
 du Gua. 
 
 " Oh, madame, the secrets of a young girl who 
 knows nothing of life but its misfortunes are not 
 interesting." 
 
 "But," answered Madame du Gua, wishing to con- 
 tinue a conversation which might reveal to her all that 
 she wanted to know, "the First Consul seems to 
 have excellent intentions. They say that he is going 
 to remove the disabilities of the emigres." 
 
 "That is true, madame," she replied, with rather too
 
 102 The Chouans. 
 
 much eagerness, " and if so, why do we rouse Brittany 
 and La Vendee? Why bring civil war into France? " 
 
 This eager cry. in which she seemed to share her 
 own reproach, made the young sailor quiver. He 
 looked earnestly at her, but was unable to detect either 
 hatred or love upon her face. Her beautiful skin, the 
 delicacy of which was shown by the color beneath it, 
 was impenetrable. A sudden and invincible curiosity 
 attracted him to this strange creature, to whom he was 
 already drawn by violent desires. 
 
 " Madame," said Mademoiselle de Verneuil, after a 
 pause, " may I ask if you are going to Mayenne? " 
 
 ' ; Yes, mademoiselle," replied the young man with a 
 questioning look. 
 
 "Then, madame," she continued, " as your son serves 
 the Republic " (she said the words with an apparently 
 indifferent air, but she gave her companions one of 
 those furtive glances the art of which belongs to women 
 and diplomatists), "you must fear the Chouans, and an 
 escort is not to be despised. We are now almost travel- 
 ling companions, and I hope you will come with me to 
 Mayenne." 
 
 Mother and son hesitated, and seemed to consult each 
 other's faces. 
 
 "I am not sure, mademoiselle," said the young man, 
 " that it is prudent in me to tell you that interests of 
 the highest importance require our presence to-night in 
 the neighborhood of Fougeres. and we have not } - et been 
 able to find a means of conveyance ; but women are so 
 naturally generous that I am ashamed not to confide in 
 you. Nevertheless," he added, " before putting our- 
 selves in your hands, I ought to know whether we shall 
 be able to get out of them safe and sound. In short,
 
 The t'houans. 103 
 
 mademoiselle, are yon the sovereign or the slave of 
 your Republican escort? Pardon my frankness, but 
 your position does not seem to me exactly natural " 
 
 " \Ve live in times, monsieur, when nothing takes 
 place naturally. You can accept my proposal without 
 anxiety. Above all," she added, emphasizing her words, 
 " you need fear no treachery in an offer made by a. 
 woman who has no part in political hatreds." 
 
 "A journey thus made is not without danger," he 
 said, with a look which gave significance to that com- 
 monplace remark. 
 
 ''What is it you fear?" she answered, smiling sar- 
 castically. " I see no peril for any one." 
 
 " Is this the woman who a moment ago shared my 
 desires in her eyes?" thought the young man. " What 
 a tone in her voice ! she is laying a trap for me." 
 
 At that instant the shrill cry of an owl which ap- 
 peared to have perched on the chimney top vibrated in 
 the air like a warning. 
 
 " What does that mean ? " said Mademoiselle de Ver- 
 neuil. " Our journey together will not begin under 
 favorable auspices. Do owls in these parts screech by 
 daylight?" she added, with a surprised gesture. 
 
 " Sometimes,'' said the young man, coolly. " Made- 
 moiselle," he continued, " we may bring you ill-luck ; 
 you are thinking of that, I am sure. We had better 
 not travel together." 
 
 These words were said with a calmness and reserve 
 which puzzled Mademoiselle de Verneuil. 
 
 " Monsieur," she replied, with truly aristocratic in- 
 solence, "'I am far from wishing to compel you. Pray 
 let us keep the little liberty the Republic leaves us. If 
 Madame were alone, I should insist
 
 104 The Chouans. 
 
 The heavy step of a soldier was heard in the passage, 
 and the Commandant Ilulot presently appeared in the 
 doorway with a frowning brow. 
 
 " Come here, colonel," said Mademoiselle de Vcr- 
 ncnil, smiling and pointing to a chair beside her. " Let 
 us talk over the affairs of State. But what is the mat- 
 ter with you? Are there Chouans here?" 
 
 The commandant stood speechless on catching sight 
 of the young man, at whom he looked with peculiar 
 attention. 
 
 "Mamma, will you take some more hare? Made- 
 moiselle, you are not eating," said the sailor to Fran cine, 
 seeming busy with the guests. 
 
 But Ilulot's astonishment and Mademoiselle de Ver- 
 neuil's close observation had something too dangerously 
 serious about them to be ignored. 
 
 " What is it. citizen? " said the 3~oung man, abruptly ; 
 " do you know me? " 
 
 " Perhaps I do," replied the Republican. 
 
 " You are right ; I remember you at the School." 
 
 " I never went to any school, ' said the soldier, 
 roughly. "What school do you mean?" 
 
 " The Polyteehnique." 
 
 '' Ha, ha. those barracks where they expect to make 
 soldiers in dormitories." said the veteran, whose aver- 
 sion for officers trained in that nursery was insurmount- 
 able. "To what arm do you belong?" 
 
 " I ain in the navy." 
 
 'Ila!" cried Ilulot. smiling vindictively, "how 
 many of your fellow-students are in the navv? Don't 
 you know." he added in a serious tone, " that none but 
 the artillery and the engineers graduate from there?" 
 
 The young man was not di.-eonecrted.
 
 The Chouans. 105 
 
 "An exception was made in my favor, on account of 
 the name I bear," he answered. " We are all naval 
 men in our family." 
 
 " What is the name of your family, citizen? " asked 
 Hulot. 
 
 "DuGua Saint-Cyr." 
 
 " Then you were not killed at Mortagne?" 
 
 "He came very near being killed," said Madame du 
 Gua, quickly ; " 1113- son received two balls in 
 
 "Where are your papers?" asked Hulot, not listen- 
 ing to the mother. 
 
 " Do you propose to read them ? " said the young 
 man, cavalierty ; his blue C3'e, keen with suspicion, 
 studied alternately the gloomy face of the command- 
 ant and that of Mademoiselle de Verneuil. 
 
 " A stripling like you to pretend to fool me ! Come, 
 produce your papers, or " 
 
 " La ! la ! citizen, I'm not such a babe as I look to 
 be. Win' should I answer you? Who are you?" 
 
 " The commander of this department," replied Ilulot. 
 
 " Oh, then, of course, the matter is serious ; I am 
 taken with arms in ni3" hand," and he held out a glass 
 full of Bordeaux to the soldier. 
 
 " I am not thirsty," said Ilulot. " Come, your 
 papers." 
 
 At that instant the rattle of arms and the tread of 
 men was heard in the street. Ilulot walked to the 
 window and gave a satisfied look which made Made- 
 moiselle de Ycrncuil tremble. That sign of interest on 
 her part seemed to fire the young man, whose face had 
 grown cold and haughty. After feeling in the pockets 
 of his coat he drew forth an elegant portfolio and pre- 
 sented certain papers to the commandant, which the
 
 10G The Chouans. 
 
 latter read slowly, comparing the description given in 
 the passport with the face and figure of the young man 
 before him. During this prolonged examination the 
 owl's cry rose again ; but this time there -was no diffi- 
 culty whatever in recognizing a human voice. The 
 commandant at once returned the papers to the young 
 man, with a scoffing look. 
 
 " That 's all very line," lie said ; " but I don't like 
 the music. You will come with me to headquarters." 
 
 "Why do you take him there?" asked Mademoiselle 
 de Verneuil, in a tone of some excitement. 
 
 "My good lady," replied the commandant, with his 
 usual grimace, " that 's none of your business." 
 
 Irritated by the tone and words of the old soldier, but 
 still more at the sort of humiliation offered to her in 
 presence of a man who was under the influence of her 
 charms, Mademoiselle de Verneuil rose, abandoning the 
 simple and modest manner she had hitherto adopted ; 
 her cheeks glowed and her eyes shone as she said in a 
 quiet tone but with a trembling voice : " Tell me, has 
 this young man met all the requirements of the law? " 
 
 " Yes apparently," said Ilulot ironically. 
 
 ''Then, I desire that you will leave him, apparently, 
 alone," she said. " Are you afraid he will escape you? 
 You arc to escort him with me to Maj'enne ; he will be 
 in the coach with his mother. Make no objection ; it 
 is my will Well, what? " she added, noticing Ilulot's 
 grimace ; "do you suspect him still?" 
 
 "Rather." 
 
 " What do you want to do with him?" 
 
 "Oh, nothing; balance his head with a little lead 
 perhaps. lie '.s a giddy-pate ! " said the commandant, 
 ironicallj'.
 
 The Chouans. 107 
 
 "Are you joking, colonel ?" cried Mademoiselle de 
 Verneuil. 
 
 " Come ! " said tlie commandant, nodding to the 
 young man, " make haste, let us be off.'' 
 
 At this impertinence Mademoiselle de Verneuil be- 
 came calm and smiling. 
 
 " Do not go," she said to the young man, protecting 
 him with a gesture that was full of dignity. 
 
 " Oh, what a beautiful head ! " said the youth to his 
 mother, who frowned heavily. 
 
 Annoyance, and man}- other sentiments, aroused 
 and struggled with, did certainly bring fresh beauties 
 to the young woman's face. Francine, Madame du 
 Gua, and her son had all risen from their seats. 
 Mademoiselle de Verneuil hastily advanced and stood 
 between them and the commandant, who smiled amu- 
 sedly ; then she rapidly unfastened the frogged fasten- 
 ings of her jacket. Acting w r ith that blindness which 
 often seizes women when their self-love is threatened 
 and they are anxious to show their power, as a child is 
 impatient to play with a toy that has just been given to 
 it, she took from her bosom a paper and presented it 
 to Hulot. 
 
 "Read that," she said, with a sarcastic laugh. 
 
 Then she turned to the young man and gave him, 
 in the excitement of her triumph, a look in which mis- 
 chief was mingled with an expression of love. Their 
 brows cleared, joy flushed each agitated face, and a 
 thousand contradictory thoughts rose in their hearts. 
 Madame du Gua noted in that one look far more of love 
 than of pity in Mademoiselle de Verneuil' s- intervention ; 
 and she was right. The handsome creature blushed 
 beneath the other woman's gaze, understanding its
 
 108 The Chouans. 
 
 meaning, and dropped her CA'elids ; then, as if aware of 
 some threatening accusation, she raised her head 
 proudly and defied all eyes. The commandant, petri- 
 fied, returned the paper, countersigned by ministers, 
 which enjoined all authorities to obc\' the orders of this 
 mysterious lady. Having done so, he drew his sword, 
 laid it across his knees, broke the blade, and Hung away 
 the pieces. 
 
 'Mademoiselle, you probably know what you are 
 about ; but a Republican has his own ideas, and his 
 own dignity. I cannot serve where women command. 
 The First Consul will receive my resignation to-morrow ; 
 others, who are not of my stripe, ma}' obey you. I do 
 not understand my orders and therefore I stop short, 
 all the more because I am supposed to understand 
 them." 
 
 There was silence for a moment, but it was soon 
 broken by the young lady, who went up to the com- 
 mandant and held out her hand, saying, " Colonel, 
 though your beard is somewhat long, you may kiss my 
 hand ; you are, indeed, a man ! " 
 
 " I flatter myself I am, mademoiselle," lie replied, 
 depositing a kiss upon the hand of this singular young 
 woman rather awkwardly. " As for you, friend," he 
 said, threatening the young man with his finger, "you. 
 have had a narrow escape this time." 
 
 "Commandant," said the youth, "it is time all this 
 nonsense should cease ; T am ready to go with you, if 
 you like, to headquarters." 
 
 " And bring your invisible owl, Marche-a-Terre? " 
 
 "Who is Marche-a-Terre?" asked the young man, 
 Avith all the signs of genuine surprise. 
 
 " Did n't he hoot just now?"
 
 The Chouans. 109 
 
 " What did that hooting have to do with me, I 
 should like to know? I supposed it was 3'our soldiers 
 letting you know of their arrival." 
 
 4t Nonsense, you did not think that." 
 
 " Yes, I did. But do drink that glass of Bordeaux ; 
 the wine is good.'' 
 
 Surprised at the natural behavior of the youth and 
 also by the frivolity of his manners and the }'outhfulness 
 of his face, made even more juvenile by the careful 
 curling of his fair hair, the commandant hesitated in the 
 midst of his suspicions. He noticed that Madame du 
 Gua was intently watching the glances that her son 
 gave to Mademoiselle de Verneuil, and he asked her 
 abruptly : " How old are you, citoyenne? " 
 
 "Ah, Monsieur 1'offlcier," she said, "the rules of 
 the Republic are very severe ; must I tell you that I 
 am thirty-eight? " 
 
 "May I be shot if I believe it! Marche-a-Terre is 
 here ; it was he who gave that ciy ; you are Chouans in 
 disguise. God's thunder! I'll search the inn and 
 make sure of it ! " 
 
 Just then a hoot, somewhat like those that preceded 
 it, came from the courtyard ; the commandant rushed 
 out, and missed seeing the pallor that covered Madame 
 du Gua's face as he spoke. Hulot saw at once that 
 the sound came from a postilion harnessing his horses 
 to the coach, and he cast aside his suspicions, all the 
 more because it seemed absurd to suppose that the 
 Chouans would risk themselves in Alengon. He re- 
 turned to the house confounded. 
 
 " I forgive him now, but later he shall pay dear for 
 the anxiety he has given us," said the mother to the 
 son, in a low voice, as Hulot re-entered the room.
 
 110 The Chuuans. 
 
 The bravo old officer showed on his worried face the 
 struggle that went on in his mind betwixt a stern sense 
 of duty and the natural kindness of his heart. He kept 
 his gruff air, partly, perhaps, because he fancied he had 
 deceived himself, but he took the glass of Bordeaux, 
 and said: "Excuse me, comrade, but your Poly tech- 
 nique does send such young officers " 
 
 " The Chouans have younger ones," said the youth, 
 laughing. 
 
 i; For whom did you take my son?" asked Madame 
 du Gua. 
 
 "For the Gars, the leader sent to the Chouans and 
 the Vendeans by the British cabinet ; his real name is 
 Marquis de Montauran." 
 
 The commandant watched the faces of the suspected 
 pair, who looked at each other with a puzzled expres- 
 sion that seemed to say: '' Do you know that name?" 
 "No, do you?" "What is he talking about?" "He's 
 dreaming." 
 
 The sudden change in the manner of Marie de 
 Verneuil, and her torpor as she heard the name of 
 the royalist general was observed by no one but Fran- 
 cine, the only person to whom the least shade on that 
 young face was visible. Completely routed, the com- 
 mandant picked up the bits of his broken sword, looked 
 at Mademoiselle de Verneuil, whose ardent beaut}' was 
 beginning to find its way to his heart, and said: "As 
 for you, mademoiselle, I take nothing back, and to- 
 morrow these fragments of my sword will reach Bona- 
 parte, unless 
 
 " Pooh ! what do I care for Bonaparte, or your re- 
 public, or the king, or the Gars?" she cried, scarcely 
 repressing an explosion of ill-bred temper.
 
 The Chouans. Ill 
 
 A nrysterious emotion, the passion of which gave to 
 her face a dazzling color, showed that the whole world 
 was nothing to the girl the moment that one individual 
 was all in all to her. But she suddenly subdued 
 herself into forced calmness, observing, like a trained 
 actor, that the spectators were watching her. The 
 commandant rose hastily and went out. Anxious 
 and agitated, Mademoiselle de Verneuil followed him, 
 stopped him in the corridor, and said, in an almost 
 solemn tone : " Have you any good reason to suspect 
 that young man of being the Gars? " 
 
 " God's thunder ! mademoiselle, that fellow who rode 
 here with you came back to warn me that the trav- 
 ellers in the mail-coach had all been murdered by the 
 Chouans ; I knew that, but what I did n't know was 
 the name of the murdered persons, it was Gua de 
 Saint-Cyr ! " 
 
 " Oh ! if Corentin is at the bottom of all this, nothing 
 surprises me," she cried, with a gesture of disgust. 
 
 The commandant went his way without daring to 
 look at Mademoiselle de Verneuil, whose dangerous 
 beauty began to affect him. 
 
 "If I had stayed two minutes longer I should have 
 committed the folly of taking back in}' sword and es- 
 corting her," he was saying to himself as he went down 
 the stairs. 
 
 As Madame du Gua watched the young man, whose 
 eyes were fixed on the door through which Mademoi- 
 selle de Vernenil had passed, she said to him in a low 
 voice : " You are incorrigible. You will perish through 
 a woman. A doll can make you forget everything. 
 Why did you allow her to breakfast with us? Who is 
 a Demoiselle de Verneuil escorted by the Blues, who
 
 112 The Chouans. 
 
 accepts a breakfast from strangers and disarms an of- 
 ficer with a paper hidden in the bosom of her gown like 
 a love-letter? She is cnc of those contemptible crea- 
 tures by whose aid Fouclr^ expects to lay hold of von, 
 and the paper she showed the commandant ordered the 
 Blues to assist her against you." 
 
 "Eli! madame," he replied in a sharp tone which 
 went to the lady's heart and turned her pale; "her 
 generous action disproves your supposition. Pra}- re- 
 member that the welfare of the king is the sole bond 
 between us. You, who have had Charettc at your feet 
 must find the world without him empty ; are you not 
 living to avenge him? " 
 
 The lady stood still and pensive, like one who sees 
 from the shore the wreck of all her treasures, and only 
 the more eagerly longs for the vanished property. 
 
 Mademoiselle de Verneuil re-entered the room ; the 
 young man exchanged a smile with her and gave her 
 a glance full of gentle meaning. However uncertain 
 the future might seem, however ephemeral their union, 
 the promises of their sudden love were only the more 
 endearing to them. Rapid as the glance was. it did not 
 escape the sagacious eye of Madame du Gua, who in- 
 stantly understood it; her brow clouded, and she was 
 unable to wholly conceal her jealous anger. Francine 
 was observing her ; she saw the eyes glitter, the cheeks 
 flush ; she thought she perceived a diabolical spirit in 
 the face, stirred bv some sudden and terrible revulsion. 
 But lightning is not more rapid, nor death more prompt 
 than this brief exhibition of inward emotion. Madame 
 du (ilia recovered her lively manner with such immedi- 
 ate self-possession that Francine fancied herself mis- 
 taken. Nevertheless, having once perceived in this
 
 The Clwuans. 113 
 
 woman a violence of feeling that was fully equal to that 
 of Mademoiselle de Vcrueuil, she trembled as she fore- 
 saw the clash with which such natures might come to- 
 gether, and the girl shuddered when she saw Made- 
 moiselle de Verneuil go up to the young man with a 
 passionate look and, taking him by the hand, draw him 
 close beside her and into the light, with a coquettish 
 gesture that was full of witchery. 
 
 " Now," she said, trying to read his eyes, "own to 
 me that 3 - ou are not the citizen du Gua Saint-Cyr." 
 
 " Yes, I am, mademoiselle." 
 
 " But he and his mother were killed }-esterday." 
 
 " I am very sorry for that," he replied, laughing. 
 " However that may be, I am none the less under a 
 great obligation to you, for which I shall always feel the 
 deepest gratitude and only wish I could prove it to 
 you." 
 
 " I thought I was saving an emigre, but I love you 
 better as a Republican." 
 
 The words escaped her lips as it were impulsively ; 
 she became confused ; even her eyes blushed, and her 
 face bore no other expression than one of exquisite sim- 
 plicity of feeling ; she softly released the young man's 
 hand, not from shame at having pressed it, but because 
 of a thought too weighty, it seemed, for her heart to 
 bear, leaving him drunk with hope. Suddenly she ap- 
 peared to regret this freedom, permissible as it might 
 be under the passing circumstances of a journe}'. She 
 recovered her conventional manner, bowed to the lady 
 and her son, and taking Francine with her, left the 
 room. When they reached their own chamber Francine 
 wrung her hands and tossed her arms, as she looked at 
 her mistress, saying : " Ah, Marie, what a crowd of
 
 114 TJte Cliouans. 
 
 things in a moment of time ! who but you would have 
 
 O " 
 
 such adventures? " 
 
 Mademoiselle de Verneuil sprang forward and clasped 
 Franeine round the neck. 
 
 " Ah ! this is life indeed I am in heaven ! " 
 
 " Or hell," retorted Franeine. 
 
 " Yes, hell if you like ! " cried Mademoiselle de Ver- 
 neuil. " Here, give me your hand ; feel my heart, how 
 it beats. There 's fever in my veins ; the whole world 
 is now a mere nothing to me ! How man}' times have 
 I not seen that man in my dreams ! Oh ! how beauti- 
 ful his head is how his eyes sparkle ! " 
 
 "Will he love you?" said the simple peasant-woman, 
 in a quivering voice, her face full of sad foreboding. 
 
 " How can you ask me that ! " cried Mademoiselle de 
 Verneuil. "But, Franeine, tell me." she added throw- 
 ing herself into a pose that was half serious, half comic, 
 " will it be veiy hard to love rue? " 
 
 "No, but will he love you always?" replied Fran- 
 cine, smiling. 
 
 They looked at each other for a moment speechless, 
 Franeine at revealing so much knowledge of life, 
 and Marie at the perception, which now came to her 
 for the first time, of a future of happiness in her pas- 
 sion. She seemed to herself hanging over a gulf of 
 which she had wanted to know the depth, and listening 
 to the fall of the stone she had Hung, at first heedlessly, 
 into it. 
 
 "Well, it is my own affair," she said, with the ges- 
 ture of a gambler. " I should never pity a betrayed 
 woman ; she has no one but herself to blame if she is 
 abandoned. I shall know how to keep, either living or 
 dead, the man whose heart lias once been mine. Hut,"
 
 The Chouans. 115 
 
 she added, with some surprise and after a moment's 
 silence, " where did you get your knowledge of love, 
 Francine ? " 
 
 "Mademoiselle," said the peasant-woman, hastily, 
 " hush, I hear steps in the passage." 
 
 "Ah! not his steps!" said Marie, listening. "But 
 you are evading an answer ; well, well, I '11 wait for it, 
 or guess it." 
 
 Francine was right, however. Three taps on the 
 door interrupted the conversation. Captain Merle ap- 
 peared, after receiving Mademoiselle de Verneuil's 
 permission to enter. 
 
 With a military salute to the lady, whose beauty 
 dazzled him, the soldier ventured on giving her a 
 glance, but he found nothing better to say than : 
 " Mademoiselle, I am at your orders." 
 
 " Then you are to be my protector, in place of the 
 commander, who retires; is that so?" 
 
 "No, my superior is the adjutant-major Gerard, 
 who has sent me here." 
 
 "Your commandant must be very much afraid of 
 me," she said. 
 
 "Beg pardon, mademoiselle, Hulot is afraid of 
 nothing. But women, you see, are not in his line ; 
 it ruffled him to have a general in a mob-cap." 
 
 "And yet," continued Mademoiselle de Verneuil, 
 " it was his duty to obey his superiors. I like sub- 
 ordination, and I warn you that I shall allow no one 
 to disobey me." 
 
 "That would be difficult," replied Merle, gallantly. 
 
 "Let us consult," said Mademoiselle de Verneuil. 
 "You can get fresh troops here and accompam- me 
 to Mayenne, which I must reach this evening. Shall
 
 116 The Chouans. 
 
 we find other soldiers there, so that I might go on at 
 onee, without stopping ut Mayenne? The Chouans are 
 quite ignorant of our little expedition. If we travel 
 at night, we can avoid meeting any number of them, 
 and so escape an attack. Do you think this feasible ? " 
 
 " Yes, mademoiselle." 
 
 " What sort of road is it between Mayenne and 
 Fougeres ? " 
 
 " Rough ; all up and down, a regular squirrel-wheel." 
 
 " Well, let us start at once. As we have nothing to 
 fear near Alen^on, you can go before me ; we '11 join 
 3"ou soon." 
 
 " One would think she had seen ten }*ears' service," 
 thought Merle, as he departed. " Hulot is mistaken; 
 that young girl is not earning her living out of a 
 feather-bed. Ten thousand cartridges ! if I want to 
 be adjutant-major I must n't be such a fool as to 
 mistake Saint-Michael for the devil." 
 
 During Mademoiselle de Verneuil's conference with 
 the captain, Francine had slipped out for the purpose 
 of examining, through a window of the corridor, the 
 spot in the courtyard which had excited her curiosity 
 on arriving at the inn. She watched the stable and 
 the heaps of straw with the absorption of one who was 
 saying her prayers to the Virgin, and she present!}' saw 
 Madame du Qua approaching Marche-a-Terre with the 
 precaution of a cat that dislikes to wet its feet. When 
 the Chouan caught sight of the lady, lie rose and stood 
 before her in an attitude of deep respect. This singular 
 circumstance roused Franeine's curiosity; she slipped 
 into the courtyard and along the walls, avoiding 
 Madame du Clua's notice, and trying to hide herself 
 behind the stable door. She walked on tiptoe, scarcely
 
 The Chouans. 117 
 
 daring to breathe, and succeeded in posting herself 
 close to Marche-a-Terre, without exciting his attention. 
 
 "If, after all this information/ 3 the lady was saying 
 to the Chouan, " it proves not to be her real name, you 
 are to fire upon her without pity, as you would on a 
 mad dog." 
 
 " Agreed ! " said Marche-a-Terre. 
 
 The lad}" left him. The Chouan replaced his red 
 woollen cap upon his head, remained standing, and 
 was scratching his ear as if puzzled when Francine 
 suddenly appeared before him, apparently by magic. 
 
 " Saint Anne of Auray ! " he exclaimed. Then he 
 dropped his whip, clasped his hands, and stood as if in 
 ecstasy. A faint color illuminated his coarse face, and 
 his eyes shone like diamonds dropped on a muck-heap. 
 " Is it really the brave girl from Cottin?" he muttered, 
 in a voice so smothered that he alone heard it. " You 
 are fine," he said, after a pause, using the curious 
 word, "godaine," a superlative in the dialect of those 
 regions used by lovers to express the combination of 
 fine clothes and beauty. 
 
 "I daren't touch you," added Marche-a-Terre, 
 putting out his big hand nevertheless, as if to weigh 
 the gold chain which hung round her neck and below 
 her waist. 
 
 "You had better not, Pierre," replied Francine, 
 inspired \>\ the instinct which makes a woman despotic 
 when not oppressed. She drew back haughtily, after 
 enjoying the Chouan's surprise ; but she compensated 
 for the harshness of her words by the softness of her 
 glance, saying, as she once more approached him : 
 "Pierre, that lady was talking to you about my young 
 mistress, wasn't she?"
 
 118 The Chouans. 
 
 Marche-a-Terre was silent ; his face struggled, like 
 the dawn, between clouds and light, lie looked in 
 turn at Francine, at the whip he had dropped, and at 
 the chain, which seemed to have as powerful an attract- 
 tion for him as the Breton girl herself. Then, as if to 
 put a stop to his own uneasiness, he picked up his whip 
 and still kept silence. 
 
 " Well, it is easy to see that that lady told you to 
 kill my mistress," resumed Francine. who knew the 
 faithful discretion of the peasant, and wished to relieve 
 his scruples. 
 
 Marche-a-Terre lowered his head significantly. To 
 the Cottin girl that was answer enough. 
 
 " Very good, Pierre," she said ; " if any evil happens 
 to her, if a hair of her head is injured, you and I will 
 have seen each other for the last time ; for I shall be in 
 heaven, and you will go to hell." 
 
 The possessed of devils whom the Church in for- 
 mer days used to exorcise with great pomp were not 
 more shaken and agitated than Marche-a-Terre at this 
 prophecy, uttered with a conviction which gave it 
 certaint}'. His glance, which at first had a character 
 of savage tenderness, counteracted by a fanaticism as 
 powerful in his soul as love, suddenly became surly, as 
 he felt the imperious manner of the girl he had long 
 since chosen. Francine interpreted his silence in her 
 own way. 
 
 " Won't you do anything for 1113" sake?" she said in 
 a tone of reproach. 
 
 At these words the Cliouan cast a glance at his mis- 
 tress from eyes that were black as a crow's wing. 
 
 ''Are you free?" he asked in a growl that Francine 
 alone could have understood-
 
 The Chouans. 119 
 
 " Should I be here if I were not? " she replied, indig- 
 nantly. " But you, what are you doing here? Still 
 pla}'ing bandit, still roaming the country like a mad dog 
 wanting to bite. Oh ! Pierre, if you were wise you 
 would come with me. This beautiful young lady, who, 
 I ought to tell you, was nursed when a baby in our 
 home, has taken care of me. I have two hundred francs 
 a j'ear from a good investment. And Mademoiselle has 
 bought me my uncle Thomas's big house for fifteen hun- 
 dred francs, and I have saved two thousand beside." 
 
 But her smiles and the announcement of her wealth 
 fell dead before the dogged immovability of the Chouan. 
 
 " The priests have told us to go to war," he replied. 
 " Every Blue we shoot earns one indulgence." 
 
 " But suppose the Blues shoot you? " 
 
 He answered by letting his arms drop at his sides, as 
 if regretting the poverty of the o lie ring he should thus 
 make to God and the king. 
 
 "What will become of me?" exclaimed the young 
 girl, sorrowfully. 
 
 Marche-u-Terre looked at her stupidly ; his eyes 
 seemed to enlarge ; tears rolled down his haiiy cheeks 
 upon the goatskin which covered him, and a low moan 
 came from his breast. 
 
 "Saint Anne of Auray ! Pierre, is this all you 
 have to say to me after a parting of seven years ? You 
 have changed indeed." 
 
 " I love you the same as ever," said the Chouan, in a 
 a gruff voice. 
 
 " Xo," she whispered, " the king is first." 
 
 " If you look at me like that I shall go," he said. 
 
 " Well, then, adieu," she replied, sadly. 
 
 " Adieu," he repeated.
 
 120 The Chouans. 
 
 He seized her hand, wrung it, kissed it, made the 
 sign of the cross, and rushed into the stable, like a dog 
 who fears that his bone will be taken from him. 
 
 " Pille-Miche," he said to his comrade. "Where's 
 your tobacco-box? " 
 
 " IIo ! sacre bleu! what a fine chain ! " cried Pille-Miche, 
 fumbling in a pocket constructed in his goatskin. 
 
 Then he held out to Marche-a-Terre the little horn in 
 which Bretons put the finely powdered tobacco which 
 they prepare themselves during the long winter nights. 
 The Chouan raised his thumb and made a hollow in 
 the palm of his hand, after the manner in which an 
 " Invalide" takes his tobacco ; then he shook the horn, 
 the small end of which Pille-Miche had unscrewed. A 
 fine powder fell slowly from the little hole pierced in 
 the point of this Breton utensil. Marche-a-Terre went 
 through the same process seven or eight times silenth*, as 
 if the powder had power to change the current of his 
 thoughts. Suddenly he flung the horn to Pille-Miche 
 with a gesture of despair, and caught up a gun which 
 was hidden in the straw. 
 
 " Seven or eight shakes at once! I suppose you think 
 that costs nothing! " said the stingy Pille-Miche. 
 
 " Forward! " cried Marche-a-Terre in a hoarse voice. 
 " There's work before us." 
 
 Thirty or more Chouans who were sleeping in the 
 straw under the mangers, raised their heads, saw 
 Marche-a-Terre on his feet, and disappeared instantly 
 through a door which led to the garden, from which it 
 was easy to reach the fields. 
 
 When Francine left the stable she found the mail- 
 coach ready to start. Mademoiselle de Vornenil and 
 her new fellow-travellers were already in it. The girl
 
 The Chouans. 121 
 
 shuddered as she saw her young mistress sitting side 
 by side with the woman who had just ordered her death. 
 The young man had taken his seat lacing Marie, and as 
 soon as Franeine was in hers the heavy vehicle started 
 at a good pace. 
 
 The sun had swept away the gray autumnal mists, 
 and its rays were brightening the gloomy landscape 
 with a look of youth and holiday. Many lovers fancy 
 that such chance accidents of the sky are premonitions. 
 Franeine was surprised at the strange silence which fell 
 upon the travellers. Mademoiselle de Verneuil had re- 
 covered her cold manner, and sat with her eyes lowered, 
 her head slightly inclined, and her hands hidden under 
 a sort of mantle in which she had wrapped herself. It* 
 she raised her eyes it was only to look at the passing 
 scenery. Certain of being admired, she rejected admi- 
 ration ; but her apparent indifference was evidently 
 more coquettish than natural, Purity, which gives such 
 harmony to the diverse expressions by which a simple 
 soul reveals itself, could lend no charm to a being whose 
 every instinct predestined her to the storms of passion. 
 Yielding himself up to the pleasures of this dawning in- 
 trigue, the young man did not try to explain the contra- 
 dictions which were obvious between the coquetry and 
 the enthusiasm of this singular young girl. Her as- 
 sumed indifference allowed him to examine at his ease 
 a face which was now as beautiful in its calmness as it 
 had been when agitated. Like the rest of us, he was 
 not disposed to question the sources of his enjoyment. 
 
 It is difficult for a pretty woman to avoid the glances 
 of her companions in a carriage when their eyes fasten 
 upon her as a visible distraction to the monotony of a 
 journey. Happy, therefore, in being able to satisfy the
 
 122 Tlie Chouans. 
 
 hunger of his dawning passion, without offence or avoid- 
 ance on the part of its object, the young man studied 
 the pure and brilliant lines of the girl's head and face. 
 To him they were a picture. Sometimes the light 
 brought out the transparent rose of the nostrils and the 
 double curve which united the nose with the upper lip ; 
 at other times a pale glint of sunshine illuminated the 
 tints of the skin, pearly beneath the eyes and round the 
 mouth, rosy on the cheeks, and ivory-white about the 
 temples and throat. He admired the contrasts of light 
 and shade caused b}' the masses of black hair surround- 
 ing her face and giving it an ephemeral grace, for all 
 is fleeting in a woman ; her beauty of to-day is often 
 not that of j'esterda}', fortunately for herself, perhaps ! 
 The young man, who was still at an age when youth 
 delights in the nothings which are the all of love, 
 watched eagerly for each movement of the eyelids, and 
 the seductive rise and fall of her bosom as she breathed. 
 Sometimes he fancied, suiting the tenor of his thoughts, 
 that he could see a meaning in the expression of the 
 eyes and the imperceptible inflection of the lips. Every 
 gesture betrayed to him the soul, every motion a new 
 aspect of the young girl. If a thought stirred those 
 mobile features, if a sudden blush suffused the cheeks, 
 or a smile brought life into the face, he found a fresh 
 delight in trying to discover the secrets of this myste- 
 rious creature. Everything about her was a snare to 
 the soul and a snare to the senses. Even the silence 
 that fell between them, far from raising an obstacle to 
 the understanding of their hearts, became the common 
 ground for mutual thoughts. But after a while the 
 many looks in which their eyes encountered each other 
 warned Marie de Verneuil that the silence was com-
 
 The Chouans. 123 
 
 promising her, and she turned to Madame du Gua with 
 one of those commonplace remarks which open the 
 way to conversation ; but even in so doing she included 
 the 3~oung man. 
 
 "Madame," she said, "how could you put your 
 son into the navy? have you not doomed yourself to 
 perpetual anxiet}' ? " 
 
 " Mademoiselle, the fate of women, of mothers I 
 should say, is to tremble for the safet}' of their dear 
 ones." 
 
 " Your son is very like you." 
 
 "Do you think so, mademoiselle?" 
 
 The smile with which the young man listened to 
 these remarks increased the vexation of his pretended 
 mother. Her hatred grew with every passionate glance 
 he turned on Marie. Silence or conversation, all in- 
 creased the dreadful wrath which she carefully concealed 
 beneath a cordial manner. 
 
 "Mademoiselle," said the }'oung man, "you are 
 quite mistaken. Naval men are not more exposed to 
 danger than soldiers. Women ought not to dislike the 
 nav}' ; we sailors have a merit beyond that of the 
 military, we are faithful to our mistresses." 
 
 " Oh, from necessity," replied Mademoiselle de Ver- 
 neuil, laughing. 
 
 " But even so, it is fidelity," said Madame du Gua, 
 in a deep voice. 
 
 The conversation grew livel}", touching upon subjects 
 that were interesting to none but the three travellers, 
 for under such circumstances intelligent persons give 
 new meanings to commonplace talk ; but every word, 
 insignificant as it might seem, was a mutual interroga- 
 tion, hiding the desires, hopes, and passions which
 
 124 The Chouans. 
 
 agitated them. Marie's cleverness and quick percep- 
 tions (for she was fully on her guard) showed Madame 
 du Gua that calumny and treachery could alone avail 
 to triumph over a rival as formidable through her intel- 
 lect as by her beauty. The mail-coach presently over- 
 took the escort, and then advanced more slowly. The 
 young man, seeing a long hill before them, proposed to 
 the young lady that they should walk. The friendly 
 politeness of his offer decided her, and her consent 
 flattered him. 
 
 "Is Madame of our opinion?" she said, turning to 
 Madame du Gua. " Will she walk, too?" 
 
 " Coquette ! " said the lady to herself, as she left the 
 coach. 
 
 Marie and the young man walked together, but a 
 little apart. The sailor, full of ardent desires, was 
 determined to break the reserve that checked him, of 
 which, however, he was not the dupe. He fancied he 
 could succeed by dallying with the young lad}' in that 
 tone of courteous amiability and wit, sometimes frivo- 
 lous, sometimes serious, always chivalric and occasion- 
 ally satirical, which characterized the men of the exiled 
 aristocracy. But the smiling Parisian beauty parried 
 him so mischievous!}", and rejected his frivolities with 
 such disdain, evidently preferring the stronger ideas 
 and enthusiasms which he betrayed from time to time 
 in spite of himself, that he presently began to un- 
 derstand the true way of pleasing her. The con- 
 versation then changed. He realized the hopes her 
 expressive face had given him ; yet, as lie did so, new 
 diiliculties arose, and he was still forced to suspend 
 his judgment on a girl who seemed to take delight in 
 thwarting him, a siren with whom lie grew more and
 
 The Chouans. 125 
 
 more in love. After yielding to the seduction of her 
 beauty lie was still more attracted to her mysterious 
 soul, with a curiosity which Marie perceived and took 
 pleasure in exciting. Their intercourse assumed, in- 
 sensibly, a character of intimacy far removed from the 
 tone of indifference which Mademoiselle de Verneuil 
 endeavored in vain to give to it. 
 
 Though Madame du Gua had followed the lovers, the 
 latter had unconsciously walked so much more rapidly 
 than she that a distance of several hundred feet soon 
 separated them. The charming pair trod the fine sand 
 beneath their feet, listening with childlike delight to the 
 union of their footsteps, happy in being wrapped by the 
 same ray of a sunshine that seemed spring-like, in 
 breathing with the same breath autumnal perfumes 
 laden with vegetable odors which seemed a nourish- 
 ment brought by the breezes to their dawning love. 
 Though to them it may have been a mere circum- 
 stance of their fortuitous meeting, yet the sky, the 
 landscape, the season of the year, did communicate 
 to their emotions a tinge of melancholy gravity which 
 gave them an element of passion. They praised the 
 weather and talked of its beauty ; then of their strange 
 encounter, of the coming rupture of an intercourse so 
 delightful; of the ease with which, in travelling, friend- 
 ships, lost as soon as made, are formed. After this 
 last remark, the young man profited by what seemed to 
 be a tacit permission to make a few tender confidences, 
 and to risk an avowal of love like a man who was not 
 unaccustomed to such situations. 
 
 "Have }"ou noticed, mademoiselle," he said, ' ; how 
 little the feelings of the heart follow the old conven- 
 tional rules in the days of terror in which we live?
 
 126 The Chouans. 
 
 Everything about us bears the stamp of suddenness. 
 We love in a day, or we hate on the strength of a single 
 glance. We are bound to each other for life in a mo- 
 ment, or we part with the celerity of death itself. All 
 things are hurried, like the convulsions of the nation. In 
 the midst of such dangers as ours the ties that bind 
 should be stronger than under the ordinary course of 
 life. In Paris during the Terror, every one came to 
 know the full meaning of a clasp of the hand as men 
 do on a battle-field." 
 
 " People felt the necessity of living fast and ar- 
 dently," she answered, "for they had little time to live." 
 Then, with a glance at her companion which seemed to 
 tell him that the end of their short intercourse was ap- 
 proaching, she added, maliciously : " You are very well 
 informed as to the affairs of life, for a }~oiing man who 
 has just left the Ecole Poly technique! " 
 
 " What are 3-011 thinking of me?" he said after a mo- 
 ment's silence. " Tell me frankly, without disguise." 
 
 " You wish to acquire the right to speak to me of 
 myself," she said laughing. 
 
 "You do not answer me," he went on after a slight 
 pause. " Take care, silence is sometimes significant." 
 
 " Do you think I cannot guess all that you would 
 like to say to me? Good heavens ! you have already 
 said enough." 
 
 "Oh, if we understand each other," he replied, 
 smiling, " I have obtained even more than I dared 
 hope for." 
 
 She smiled in return so graciously that she seemed to 
 accept the courteous struggle into which all men like to 
 draw a woman. They persuaded themselves, half in jest, 
 half in earnest, that they never could be more to each
 
 TJie CJiouans. 127 
 
 other tlmn the}' were at that moment. The j'oung man 
 fancied, therefore, he might give reins to a passion that 
 could have no future ; the young woman felt she might 
 smile upon it. Marie suddenly struck her foot against 
 a stone and stumbled. 
 
 " Take my arm," said her companion. 
 
 " It seems I must," she replied ; " 3'ou would be too 
 proud if I refused ; you would fancy I feared you." 
 
 "Ah, mademoiselle," he said, pressing her arm 
 against his heart that she might feel the beating of it, 
 " you flatter my pride by granting such a favor." 
 
 " Well, the readiness with which I do so will cure 
 your illusions." 
 
 " Do 3'ou wish to save me from the danger of the 
 emotions }'ou cause ? " 
 
 " Stop, stop ! " she cried ; "do not try to entangle me 
 in such boudoir riddles. I don't like to find the wit of 
 fools in a man of your character. See! here we are be- 
 neath the glorious sk}', in the open country ; before us, 
 above us, all is grand. You wish to tell me that I am 
 beautiful, do you not? Well, your eyes have already 
 told me so; besides, I know it; I am not a woman 
 whom mere compliments can please. But perhaps you 
 would like," this with satirical emphasis, " to talk 
 about your sentiments? Do you think me so simple as 
 to believe that sudden sympathies are powerful enough 
 to influence a whole life through the recollections of one 
 morning? " 
 
 " Not the recollections of a morning," he said, " but 
 those of a beautiful woman who has shown herself 
 generous." 
 
 " You forget," she retorted, laughing, "half my at- 
 tractions, a mysterious woman, with everything odd
 
 128 The Chouans. 
 
 about her, name, rank, situation, freedom of thought 
 and manners." 
 
 " You are not mysterious to me! " he exclaimed. "I 
 have fathomed you ; there is nothing that could be 
 added to your perfections except a little more faith in 
 the love you inspire." 
 
 " Ah, my poor child of eighteen, what can you know 
 of love? " she said smiling. " Well, well, so be it! " she 
 added, "it is a fail- subject of conversation, like the 
 weather when one pays a visit. You shall find that 
 I have neither false modesty nor petty fears. I can 
 hear the word love without blushing ; it has been so 
 often said to me without one echo of the heart that I 
 think it quite unmeaning. I have met with it every- 
 where, in books, at the theatre, in society, yes, every- 
 where, and never have 1 found in it even a semblance 
 of its magnificent ideal." 
 
 " Did you seek that ideal ? " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 The word was said with such perfect ease and free- 
 dom that the young man made a gesture of surprise and 
 looked at Marie fixedly, as if he had suddenly changed 
 his opinion on her character and real position. 
 
 " Mademoiselle," he said with ill-concealed emotion, 
 " are you maid or wife, angel or devil? " 
 
 "All," she replied, laughing. * Is n't there some- 
 thing diabolic and also angelic in a young girl who has 
 never loved, does not love, and perhaps will never 
 love ? " 
 
 " Do you think yourself happy thus?" he asked with 
 a free and easy tone and manner, as though already he 
 felt less respect for her. 
 
 " Oh, happy, no," she replied. " When I think that
 
 The Chouans. 129 
 
 I am alone, hampered by social conventions that make 
 me deceitful, I envy the privileges of a man. But when 
 I also reflect on the means which nature has bestowed 
 on us women to catch and entangle 3*011 men in the in- 
 visible meshes of a power which you cannot resist, then 
 the part assigned me in the world is not displeas- 
 ing to me. And then again, suddenly, it does seem 
 very pettj', and I feel that I should despise a man who 
 allowed himself to be duped by such vulgar seductions. 
 No sooner do I perceive our power and like it, than I 
 know it to be horrible and I abhor it. Sometimes I 
 feel within me that longing towards devotion which 
 makes my sex so nobly beautiful; and then I feel a 
 desire, which consumes me, for dominion and power. 
 Perhaps it is the natural struggle of the good and the 
 evil principle in which all creatures live here below. 
 Angel or devil! you have expressed it. Ah! to-day is 
 not the first time that I have recognized my double 
 nature. But we women understand better than 3*011 
 men can do our own shortcomings. We have an in- 
 stinct which shows us a perfection in all things to 
 which, nevertheless, we fail to attain. But," she 
 added, sighing as she glanced at the sky ; " that which 
 enhances us in your eyes is 
 
 "Is what?" he said. 
 
 " that we are all struggling, more or less," she 
 answered, " against a thwarted destiii}-." 
 
 "Mademoiselle, why should we part to-night?" 
 
 "Ah!" she replied, smiling at the passionate look 
 which he gave her, "let us get into the carriage; the 
 open air does not agree with us." 
 
 Marie turned abruptly ; the young man followed her, 
 and pressed her arm with little respect, but in a manner 
 
 9
 
 130 Tie CJiouans. 
 
 that expressed his imperious admiration. She hastened 
 her steps. Seeing that she wished to escape an impor- 
 tunate declaration, he became the more ardent; being 
 determined to win a first favor from this woman, he 
 risked all and said, looking at her meaningly : 
 
 " Shall I tell you a secret? " 
 
 " Yes, quickly, if it concerns you." 
 
 " I am not in the service of the Republic. Where 
 are you going? I shall follow you." 
 
 At the words Marie trembled violently. She with- 
 drew her arm and covered her face with both hands to 
 hide either the flush or the pallor of her cheeks ; then 
 she suddenly uncovered her face and said in a voice of 
 deep emotion : 
 
 " Then you began as you would have ended, -by 
 deceiving me ? " 
 
 " Yes,'' he said. 
 
 At this answer she turned again from the carriage, 
 which was now overtaking them, and began to almost 
 run along the road. 
 
 " I thought," he said, following her, " that the open 
 air did not agree with you?" 
 
 'Oh! it lias changed," she replied in a grave tone, 
 continuing to walk on. a prey to agitating thoughts. 
 
 ' You do not answer me," said the young man, his 
 heart full of the soft expectation of coming pleasure. 
 
 'Oh!'' she said, in a strained voice, "the tragedy 
 begins." 
 
 ' What tragedy? " he asked. 
 
 She stopped short, looked at the young student from 
 head to foot with a mingled expression of fear and cnri- 
 ositv : then she concealed the reelings that were agitat- 
 ing he]- under the ma.-k of an impenetrable calmness,
 
 The Chouans. 131 
 
 showing that for a girl of her age she had great experi- 
 ence of lite. 
 
 " Who are you? " she said, " but I know ahead}" ; 
 when I first saw you I suspected it. You are the roy- 
 alist leader whom they call the Gars. The ex-bishop 
 of Autun was right in saying we should always believe 
 in presentiments which give warning of evil." 
 
 ; ' What interest have you in knowing the Gars?" 
 
 " What interest has he in concealing himself from 
 me who have alreach' saved his life ? " She began to 
 laugh, but the merriment was forced. U I have wisely 
 prevented you from saying that you love me. Let me 
 tell you, monsieur, that I abhor you. I am republican, 
 you are royalist ; I would deliver you up if you were 
 not under my protection, and if I had not already saved 
 your life, and if " she stopped. These A'iolent ex- 
 tremes of feeling and the inward struggle which she no 
 longer attempted to conceal alarmed the young man, 
 who tried, but in vain, to observe her calmly. "Let 
 us part here at once, I insist upon it ; farewell ! " she 
 said. She turned hastily back, made a few steps, and 
 then returned to him. "No, no," she continued. "I 
 have too great an interest in knowing who you are. 
 Hide nothing from me ; tell me the truth. Who are 
 you? for you are no more a pupil of the Ecole Poly- 
 technique than you are eighteen years old." 
 
 " I am a sailor, ready to leave the ocean and follow 
 3'ou wherever your imagination may lead you. If I 
 have been so lucky as to rouse your curiosity in any 
 particular I shall be very careful not to lessen it. Why 
 mingle the serious affairs of real life with the life of the 
 heart in which we are beginning to understand each 
 other?"
 
 132 The Chouans. 
 
 " Our souls might have understood each other," she 
 said in a grave voice. " But I have no right to exact 
 your confidence. You will never know the extent of 
 your obligations to me ; I shall not explain them." 
 
 They walked a few steps in silence. 
 
 " My life does interest you," said the young man. 
 
 ''Monsieur, I implore you, tell me your name or else 
 be silent. You are a child," she added, with an impa- 
 tient movement of her shoulders, " and I feel a pity for 
 you." 
 
 The obstinacy with which she insisted on knowing 
 his name made the pretended sailor hesitate between 
 prudence and love. The vexation of a desired woman 
 is powerfully attractive ; her anger, like her submission, 
 is imperious ; many are the fibres she touches in a 
 man's heart, penetrating and subjugating it. Was this 
 scene only another aspect of Mademoiselle de Verneuil's 
 coquetry? In spite of his sudden passion the unnamed 
 lover had the strength to distrust a woman thus bent 
 on forcing from him a secret of life and death. 
 
 " Why has my rash indiscretion, which sought to give 
 a future to our present meeting, destroyed the happiness 
 of it?" he said, taking her hand, which she left in his 
 unconsciously. 
 
 Mademoiselle de Verneuil, who seemed to be in real 
 distress, was silent. 
 
 '"How have I displeased you?" he said. "What 
 can I do to soothe you ? " 
 
 ' Tell me your name." 
 
 lie made no reply, and they walked some distance in 
 silence. Suddenly Mademoiselle de Verneuil stopped 
 short, like one who has come to some serious deter- 
 mination.
 
 The Chouans. 133 
 
 " Monsieur le Marquis tie Montauran," she said, with 
 dignity, but without being able to conceal entirety the 
 nervous trembling of her features, " I desire to do you 
 a great service, whatever it may cost me. We part 
 here. The coach and its escort are necessary for your 
 protection, and } - ou must continue 3'our journey in it. 
 Fear nothing from the Republicans ; they are men of 
 honor, and I shall give the adjutant certain orders 
 which he will faithfully execute. As for me, I shall 
 return on foot to Alencon with 1113' maid, and take a 
 few of the soldiers with me. Listen to what I say, for 
 your life depends on it. If, before you reach a place 
 of safet}', you meet that odious man }'ou saw in my 
 compaii}* at the inn, escape at once, for he will instantly 
 betray you. As for me, " she paused, "as for me, 
 I fling myself back into the miseries of life. Farewell, 
 monsieur, may you be happ}' ; farewell." 
 
 She made a sign to Captain Merle, who was just 
 then reaching the brow of the hill behind her. The 
 marquis was taken unawares by her sudden action. 
 
 "Stop!" he cried, in a tone of despair that was 
 well acted. 
 
 This singular caprice of a girl for whom he would at 
 that instant have thrown awa}' his life so surprised 
 him, that he invented, on the spur of the moment, a 
 fatal fiction by which to hide his name and satisfy the 
 curiosity of his companion. 
 
 " You have almost guessed the truth," he said. " I 
 am an emigre, condemned to death, and 1113* name is 
 Vicomte de Bauvan. Love of 1113' country has brought 
 me back to France to join my brother. I hope to be 
 taken off the list of emigres through the influence of 
 Madame de Beauharnais, now the wife of the First
 
 134 The Chouans. 
 
 Consul ; but if I fail in this, I mean to die on the sojj 
 of my native land, fighting beside my friend Mon- 
 tauran. I am now on my way secretly, by means of a 
 passport he has sent me, to learn if any of my property 
 in Brittany is still uneonfiscated." 
 
 While the young man spoke Mademoiselle de Ver- 
 neuil examined him with a penetrating eye. She tried 
 at first to doubt his words, but being by nature con- 
 fiding and trustful, she slowly regained an expression 
 of serenity, and said eagerly, ' Monsieur, are you 
 telling me the exact truth?" 
 
 ' Yes, the exact truth," replied the young man, who 
 seemed to have no conscience in his dealings with 
 women. 
 
 Mademoiselle de Verneuil gave a deep sigh, like a 
 person who returns to life. 
 
 " Ah ! " she exclaimed, ' I am very happy." 
 
 " Then you hate that poor Montauran? '' 
 
 " Xo,'' she said ; " but I could not make you under- 
 stand my meaning. I was not willing that you should 
 meet the dangers from which I will try to protect him, 
 since he is your friend." 
 
 " Who told you that Montauran was in danger?" 
 
 " Ah. monsieur, even if I had not come from Paris, 
 where his enterprise is the one thing talked of, the 
 commandant at Alencon said enough to show his 
 danger." 
 
 " Then let me ask you how you expect to save him 
 from it." 
 
 "Suppose I do not choose to answer,'' she replied, 
 witli the haughty air that women often assume to hide 
 an emotion. ' What right have you to know my 
 secrets ? ;;
 
 The Cliouans. 135 
 
 "The right of a man who loves you." 
 
 "Already?" she said. ' No, you do not love me. 
 I am only an object of passing gallantry to you, that 
 is all. I am clear-sighted ; did I not penetrate your 
 disguise at once? A woman who knows anything of 
 good society could not be misled, in these days, by a 
 pupil of the Poh/teehnique who uses choice language, 
 and conceals as little as you do the manners of a grand 
 seigneur under the mask of a Republican. There is a 
 trifle of powder left in your' hair, and a fragrance of 
 nobility clings to you which a woman of the world can- 
 not fail to detect. Therefore, fearing that the man 
 whom you saw accompanying me, who has all the 
 shrewdness of a woman, might make the same dis- 
 covery, I sent him away. Monsieur, let me tell you 
 that a true Republican officer just from the Poh'tech- 
 nique would not have made love to me as you have 
 done, and would not have taken me for a pretty ad- 
 venturess. Allow me, Monsieur de Banvan, to preach 
 you a little sermon from a woman's point of view. Are 
 you too juvenile to know that of all the creatures of 
 1113" sex the most difficult to subdue is that same ad- 
 venturess, she whose price is ticketed and who is 
 weary of pleasure. That sort of woman requires, 
 they tell me, constant seduction ; she yields only to 
 her own caprices ; any attempt to please her argues, 
 I should suppose, great conceit on the part of a man. 
 But let us put aside that class of women, among 
 whom you have been good enough to rank me ; you 
 ought to understand that a young woman, handsome, 
 brilliant, and of noble birth (for, I suppose, you will 
 grant me those advantages), does not sell herself, and 
 can only be won by the man who loves her in one way.
 
 136 The Cliouans. 
 
 You understand me? If she loves him and is willing 
 to commit a fully, she must be justified by great and 
 heroic reasons. Forgive me this logic, rare in my sex ; 
 but for the sake of your happiness, and my own," she 
 added, dropping her head, "I will not allow either 
 of us to deceive the other, nor will I permit you to think 
 that Mademoiselle de Yerneuil. angel or devil, maid or 
 wife, is capable of being seduced by commonplace 
 gallantry." 
 
 " Mademoiselle,'' said the marquis, whose surprise, 
 though he concealed it, was extreme, and who at once 
 became a man of the great world, " I entreat you to 
 believe that I take you to be a very noble person, full 
 of the highest sentiments, or a charming girl, as you 
 please." 
 
 ' J don't ask all that." she said, laughing. "Allow 
 me to keep my incognito. Mv mask is better than 
 yours, and it pleases me to wear it. if only to dis- 
 cover whether those who talk to me of love are .sincere. 
 Therefore, beware of me ! Monsieur." she cried, catch- 
 ing his arm vehemently, " listen to me : if you were 
 able to prove that your love is true, nothing, no human 
 power, could part us. Yes, I would fain unite myself 
 to the noble destiny of some great, man, and marry a 
 vast ambition, glorious hopes ! Noble hearts are never 
 faithless, for constancy is in their fibre ; I should be 
 forever loved, forever happy. I would make my body 
 a stepping-stone bv which to raise the man who loved 
 me ; I would sacrifice all tilings to him, bear all things 
 from him, and love him forever, even if he ceased to 
 love me. I have never before dared to confess to an- 
 other heart the secrets of mine, nor the passionate 
 enthusiasms which exhaust me ; but I tell vou some-
 
 The Chouans. 137 
 
 thing of them now because, as soon as I have seen 
 3'ou in safety, we shall part forever." 
 
 44 Part? never ! " he cried, electrified by the tones of 
 that vigorous soul which seemed to be lighting against 
 some overwhelming thought. 
 
 "Are you free?" she said, with a haughty glance 
 which subdued him. 
 
 " Free ! yes, except for the sentence of death which 
 hangs over me." 
 
 She added present!}", in a voice full of bitter feeling : 
 "If all this were not a dream, a glorious life might 
 indeed be ours. But I have been talking foil}* ; let us 
 beware of committing any. When I think of all you 
 would have to be before you could rate me at my proper 
 value I doubt everything " 
 
 " I doubt nothing if you will only grant me " 
 
 "Hush!" she cried, hearing a note of true passion 
 in his voice, " the open air is decidedly disagreeing with 
 us ; let us return to the coach." 
 
 That vehicle soon came up ; they took their places 
 and drove on several miles in total silence. Both had 
 matter for reflection, but henceforth their eyes no longer 
 feared to meet. Each now seemed to have an equal 
 interest in observing the other, and in mutually hid- 
 ing important secrets ; but for all that they were drawn 
 together by one and the same impulse, which now, as a 
 result of this interview, assumed the dimensions of a 
 passion. They recognized in each other qualities which 
 promised to heighten all the pleasures to be derived 
 from either their contest or their union. Perhaps both 
 of them, living a life of adventure, had reached the sin- 
 gular moral condition in which, either from weariness 
 or in defiance of fate, the mind rejects serious reflection
 
 138 The Chouans. 
 
 and flings itself on chance in pursuing an enterprise pre- 
 cisely because the issues of chance are unknown, and 
 the interest of expecting them vivid. The moral nature, 
 like the physical nature, has its abysses into which 
 strong souls love to plunge, risking their future as 
 gamblers risk their fortune. Mademoiselle de Verneuil 
 and the young marquis had obtained a revelation of 
 each other's minds as a consequence of this interview, 
 and their intercourse thus took rapid strides, for the 
 sympathy of their souls succeeded to that of their 
 senses. Besides, the more they felt fatally drawn to 
 each other, the more eager they were to study the 
 secret action of their minds. The so-called Yicomte 
 de Bauvan, surprised at the seriousness of the strange 
 girl's ideas, asked himself how she could possibly com- 
 bine such acquired knowledge of life with so much 
 youth and freshness. He thought he discovered an 
 extreme desire to appear chaste in the modesty and 
 reserve of her attitudes. He suspected her of playing 
 a part ; he questioned the nature of his own pleasure ; 
 and ended by choosing to consider her a clever actress. 
 lie was right ; Mademoiselle de Verneuil. like other 
 women of the world, grew the more reserved the more 
 she felt the warmth of her own feelings, assuming with 
 perfect naturalness the appearance of prudery, beneath 
 which such women veil their desires. The}- all wish to 
 oiler themselves as virgins on love's altar ; and if they 
 are not so, the deception the}' seek to practise is at 
 least a homage which they pay to their lovers. These 
 thoughts passed rapidly through the mind of the young 
 man and gratified him. In fact, for both, this mutual 
 examination was an advance in their intercourse, and 
 the lover soon came to that phase of passion in which
 
 The (Jhouans. 139 
 
 a man finds in the defects of his mistress a reason for 
 loving her the more. 
 
 Mademoiselle de Verneuil was thoughtful. Perhaps 
 her imagination led her over a greater extent of the 
 future than that of the young emigre, who was merely 
 following one of the many impulses of his life as a man ; 
 whereas Marie was considering a lifetime, thinking to 
 make it beautiful, and to fill it with happiness and with 
 grand and noble sentiments. Happy in such thoughts, 
 more in love with her ideal than with the actual realit\', 
 with the future rather than with the present, she desired 
 now to return upon her steps so as to better establish her 
 power. In this she acted instinctively, as all women act. 
 Having agreed with her soul that she would give herself 
 wholly up, she wished if we may so express it to dis- 
 pute every fragment of the gift ; she longed to take back 
 from the past all her words and looks and acts and 
 make them more in harmoiry with the dignity of a 
 woman beloved. Her eyes at times expressed a sort 
 of terror as she thought of the interview just over, in 
 which she had shown herself aggressive. But as she 
 watched the face before her, instinct with power, and 
 felt that a being so strong must also be generous, she 
 glowed at the thought that her part in life would be 
 nobler than that of most women, inasmuch as her lover 
 was a man of character, a man condemned to death, 
 who had come to risk his life in making war against 
 the Republic. The thought of occupying such a sonl 
 to the exclusion of all rivals gave a new aspect to many 
 matters. Between the moment, only five hours earlier, 
 when she composed her face and toned her voice to 
 allure the young man, and the present moment, when 
 she was able to convulse him with a look, there was all
 
 The Chouans. 
 
 the difference to her between a dead world and a living 
 one. 
 
 In the condition of soul in which Mademoiselle do 
 Verneuil now existed external life seemed to her a spe- 
 cies of phantasmagoria. The carriage passed through 
 villages and valleys and mounted hills which left no 
 impressions on her mind. The}' reached Mayenne ; 
 the soldiers of the escort were changed ; Merle spoke 
 to her ; she replied ; they crossed the whole town and 
 were again in the open country ; but the faces, houses, 
 streets, landscape, men, swept past her like the figments 
 of a dream. Night came, and Marie was travelling be- 
 neath a diamond sky. wrapped in soft light, and yet she 
 was not aware that darkness had succeeded day ; that 
 Mayenne was passed ; that Fougeres was near; she 
 knew not even where she was going. That she should 
 part in a few hours from the man she had chosen, and 
 who, she believed, had chosen her, was not for her a 
 possibility. Love is the only passion which looks to 
 neither past nor future. Occasionally her thoughts 
 escaped in broken words, in phrases devoid of meaning, 
 though to her lover's ears they sounded like promises 
 of love. To the two witnesses of this birth of passion 
 she seemed to be rushing onward with fearful rapidity. 
 Francine knew Marie as well as Madame du (Jua knew 
 the marquis, and their experience of the past made 
 them await in silence some terrible finale. It was, 
 indeed, not long before the end came to the drama which 
 Mademoiselle dc Verneuil had called, without perhaps 
 imagining the truth of her words, a tragedy. 
 
 When the travellers were 1 about three miles beyond 
 Mayenne they heard a horseman riding after them with 
 great rapidity. When he reached the carriage he leaned
 
 The Chouans. 141 
 
 towards it to look at Mademoiselle de Verncuil, wlio 
 recognized Corentiu. That offensive personage made 
 her a sign of intelligence, the familiarity of which was 
 deeply mortifying ; then he turned away, after chilling 
 her to the bone with a look full of some base meaning. 
 The young emigre seemed painfully affected by this 
 circumstance, which did not escape the notice of his pre- 
 tended mother; but Marie softly touched him, seeming 
 by her eyes to take refuge in his heart as though it were 
 her only haven. His brow cleared at this proof of the 
 full extent of his mistress's attachment, coming to him 
 as it were by accident. An inexplicable fear seemed to 
 have overcome her co3'ness, and her love was visible 
 for a moment without a veil. Unfortunately for both 
 of them, Madame da Gua saw it all ; like a miser who 
 gives a feast, she seemed to count the morsels and be- 
 grudge the wine. 
 
 Absorbed in their happiness the lovers arrived, with- 
 out any consciousness of the distance they had trav- 
 ersed, at that part of the road which passed through 
 the valley of Ernee. There Francine noticed and 
 showed to her companions a number of strange forms 
 which seemed to move like shadows among the trees 
 and gorse that surrounded the fields. When the car- 
 riage came within range of these shadows a volley of 
 musketry, the balls of which whistled above their heads, 
 warned the travellers that the shadows were realities. 
 The escort had fallen into a trap. 
 
 Captain Merle now keenly regretted having adopted 
 Mademoiselle de Verneuil's idea that a rapid journey 
 by night would be a safe one, an error which had led 
 him to reduce his escort from Mayenne to sixty men. 
 He at once, under Gerard's orders, divided his little
 
 142 The Chouans. 
 
 troop into two columns, one on each side of the road, 
 which the two officers inarched at a quick step among 
 the gorse hedges, eager to meet the assailants, though 
 ignorant of their number. The Blues beat the thick 
 bushes right and left with rash intrepidity, and replied 
 to the Chouans with a steady fire. 
 
 Mademoiselle de Verneuil's first impulse was to jump 
 from the carriage and run back along the road until she 
 was out of sight of the battle ; but ashamed of her fears, 
 and moved by the feeling which impels us all to act 
 nobly under the eyes of those we love, she presently 
 stood still, endeavoring to watch the combat coolly. 
 
 The marquis followed her, took her hand, and placed 
 it on his breast. 
 
 " I was afraid," she said, smiling, " but now 
 
 Just then her terrified maid cried out : " Marie, take 
 care! " 
 
 But as she said the words, Francine, who was spring- 
 ing from the carriage, felt herself grasped by a strong 
 hand. The sudden weight of that enormous hand made 
 her shriek violently ; she turned, and was instantly si- 
 lenced on recognizing Marche-a-Terre. 
 
 ; ' Twice I owe to chance," said the marquis to Ma- 
 demoiselle de Verneuil, " the revelation of the sweetest 
 secrets of the heart. Thanks to Francine I now know 
 you bear the gracious name of Marie. Marie, the 
 name I have invoked in my distresses, Marie, a name 
 I shall henceforth speak in joy, and never without 
 sacrifice, mingling religion and love. There can be no 
 wrong where prayer and love go together." 
 
 The}' clasped hands, looked silently into each other's 
 eyes, and the excess of their emotion took away from 
 them the power to express it.
 
 TJie Chouans. 143 
 
 " There 's no danger for the rest of you," Marche-a- 
 Terre was saying roughly to Francine, giving to his 
 hoarse and guttural voice a reproachful tone, and em- 
 phasizing his last words in a way to stupefy the inno- 
 cent peasant-girl. For the first time in her life she saw 
 ferocity in that face. The moonlight seemed to heighten 
 the effect of it. The savage Breton, holding his cap in 
 one hand and his heavy carbine in the other, dumpy and 
 thickset as a gnome, and bathed in that white light the 
 shadows of which give such fantastic aspects to forms, 
 seemed to belong more to a world of goblins than to 
 reality. This apparition and its tone of reproach came 
 upon Francine with the suddenness of a phantom. He 
 turned rapidly to Madame du Gua, with whom he ex- 
 changed a few eager words, which Francine, who had 
 somewhat forgotten the dialect of Lower Brittany, did 
 not understand. The lady seemed to be giving him a 
 series of orders. The short conference ended by an 
 imperious gesture of the lady's hand pointing out to the 
 Chouan the lovers standing a little distance apart. 
 Before obeying, Marche-a-Terre glanced at Francine 
 whom he seemed to pity ; he wished to speak to her, 
 and the girl was aware that his silence was compulsory. 
 The rough and sunburnt skin of his forehead wrinkled, 
 and his eyebrows were drawn violently together. Did 
 he think of disobeying a renewed order to kill Made- 
 moiselle de Verneuil? The contortion of his face made 
 him all the more hideous to Madame du Gua, but to 
 Francine the flash of his eye seemed almost gentle, for 
 it taught her to feel intuitively that the violence of his 
 savage nature would yield to her will as a woman, and 
 that she reigned, next to God. in that rough heart. 
 
 The lovers were interrupted in their tender interview
 
 The Chouans. 
 
 by Madame clu Gua, who ran up to Marie with a cry, 
 and pulled her away as though some danger threatened 
 her. Her real object however, was to enable a mem- 
 ber of the royalist committee of Alencon, whom she 
 saw approaching them, to speak privately to the Gars. 
 
 " Beware of the girl }'ou met at the hotel in Alencon ; 
 she will betray you," said the Chevalier de Valois, in 
 the 3'oung man's ear ; and immediately he and his little 
 Breton horse disappeared among the bushes from which 
 he had issued. 
 
 The firing was heavy at that moment, but the com- 
 batants did not come to close quarters. 
 
 "Adjutant," said Clef-des-Coeurs, "isn't it a sham 
 attack, to capture our travellers and get a ransom?" 
 
 " The devil is in it, but I believe you are right," 
 replied Gerard, darting back towards the highroad. 
 
 Just then the Chouan fire slackened, for, in truth, 
 the whole object of the skirmish was to give the cheva- 
 lier an opportunity to utter his warning to the Gars. 
 Merle, who saw the enemy disappearing across the 
 hedges, thought best not to follow them nor to enter upon 
 a fight that was uselessly dangerous. Gerard ordered 
 the escort to take its former position on the road, and 
 the convoy was again in motion without the loss of a 
 single man. The captain offered his hand to Made- 
 moiselle de Verneuil to replace her in the coach, for the 
 young nobleman stood motionless, as if thunderstruck. 
 Marie, amazed at his attitude, got into the carriage alone 
 without accepting the politeness of the Republican ; she 
 turned her head towards her lover, saw him still mo- 
 tionless, and was stupefied at the sudden change which 
 had evidently come over him. The young man slowly 
 returned, his whole manner betraying deep disgust.
 
 The Chouans. 145 
 
 " Was I not right? " said Madame du Gua in his ear, 
 as she led him to the coach. " We have fallen into the 
 hands of a creature who is traflicking for your head ; 
 but since she is such a tool as to have fallen in love 
 with you, for heaven's sake don't behave like a boy ; 
 pretend to love her at least till we reach La Vivetiere ; 
 once there But," she thought to herself, seeing 
 the young man take his place with a dazed air, as if 
 bewildered, "can it be that he already loves her?" 
 
 The coach rolled on over the sandy road. To Made- 
 moiselle de Verneuil's eyes all seemed changed. Death 
 was gliding beside her love. Perhaps it was only 
 fancy, but, to a woman who loves, fancy is as vivid 
 as reality. Francine, who had clearly understood from 
 Marche-a-Terre's glance that Mademoiselle de Ver- 
 neuil's fate, over which she had commanded him to 
 watch, was in other hands than his, looked pale and 
 haggard, and could scarcely restrain her tears when her 
 mistress spoke to her. To her e\'es Madame du G-ua's 
 female malignancy was scarcely concealed by her 
 treacherous smiles, and the sudden change which her 
 obsequious attentions to Mademoiselle de Verneuil 
 made in her manners, voice, and expression was of a 
 nature to frighten a watchful observer. Mademoiselle 
 de Verneuil herself shuddered instinctively, asking 
 herself, " Why should I fear? She is his mother." 
 Then she trembled in every limb as the thought crossed 
 her mind, "Is she really his mother?" An abyss 
 suddenly opened before her, and she cast a look upon 
 the mother and son, which finally enlightened her. 
 "That woman loves him!" she thought. "But why 
 has she begun these attentions after showing me such 
 coolness? Am I lost? or is she afraid of me?" 
 
 10
 
 The Cliouans. 
 
 As for the young man, he was flushed and pale Up- 
 turns ; but he kept a quiet attitude and lowered his 
 eyes to conceal the emotions which agitated him. The 
 graceful curve of his lips was lost in their close com- 
 pression, and his skin turned yellow under the struggle 
 of his stormy thoughts. Mademoiselle de Verneuil was 
 unable to decide whether any love for her remained in 
 his evident anger. The road. Hanked 1)}' woods at this 
 particular point, became darker and more gloomy, and 
 the obscurity prevented the eyes of the silent travellers 
 from questioning eaeli other. The sighing of the wind, 
 the rustling of the trees, the measured step of the 
 escort, gave that almost solemn character to the scene 
 which quickens the pulses. Mademoiselle de Verneuil 
 could not long try in vain to discover the reason of this 
 change. The recollection of Corentin came to her like 
 a flash, and reminded her suddenly of her real destiny. 
 For the first time since the morning she reflected seri- 
 ously on her position. Until then she had yielded her- 
 self up to the delight of loving, without a thought of 
 the past or of the future. Unable to bear the agony 
 of her mind, she sought, with the patience of love, to 
 obtain a look from the young man's eyes, and when she 
 did so her paleness and the quiver in her face had so 
 penetrating an influence over him that he wavered ; but 
 the softening was momentary. 
 
 "An- you ill, mademoiselle?" he said, Lut his voice 
 had no gentleness ; the very question, the look, the ges- 
 ture, all served to convince her that the events of this 
 day belonged to a mirage of the soul which was fast 
 disappearing like; mists before the wind. 
 
 "Am I ill?" rthe replied, with a forced laugh. "I 
 was going to a>k you the same question."
 
 The Clwuans. 147 
 
 "I supposed you understood each other," remarked 
 Madame du Gua with specious kindliness. 
 
 Neither the young man nor Mademoiselle do Verneuil 
 replied. The girl, doubly insulted, was angered at 
 feeling her powerful beauty powerless. She knew she 
 could discover the cause of the present situation the 
 moment she chose to do so ; but, for the first time, 
 perhaps, a woman recoiled before a secret. Human, 
 life is sadly fertile in situations where, as a result of 
 either too much meditation or of some catastrophe, 
 our thoughts seem to hold to nothing ; they have no 
 substance, no point of departure, and the present 
 has no hooks by which to hold to the past or fasten 
 on the future. This was Mademoiselle de Verneuirs 
 condition at the present moment. Leaning back in 
 the carriage, she sat there like an uprooted shrub. 
 Silent and suffering, she looked at no one, wrapped 
 herself in her grief, and buried herself so completely 
 in the unseen world, the refuge of the miserable, 
 that she saw nothing around her. Crows crossed the 
 road in the air above them cawing, but although, like 
 all strong hearts, hers had a superstitious corner, she 
 paid no attention to the omen. The party travelled on 
 in silence. " Already parted ?" Mademoiselle de Ver- 
 neuil was saying to herself. " Yet no one about us has 
 uttered one word. Could it be Corentin? It is not his 
 interest to speak. Who can have come to this spot 
 and accused me? Just loved, and already abandoned! 
 I sow attraction, and I reap contempt. Is it my per- 
 petual fate to see happiness and ever lose it?" Pangs 
 hitherto unknown to her wrung her heart, for she now 
 loved truly and for the first time. Yet she had not so 
 wholly delivered herself to her lover that she could not
 
 148 The Chouans. 
 
 take refuge from her pain in the natural pride and 
 dignity of a j'oung and beautiful woman. The secret 
 of her love a secret often kept ~by women under 
 torture itself had not escaped her lips. Presently 
 she rose from her reclining attitude, ashamed that she 
 had shown her passion by her silent sufferings ; she 
 shook her head with a light-hearted action, and showed 
 a face, or rather a mask, that was gay and smiling ; 
 then she raised her voice to disguise the quiver of it. 
 
 " Where are we?" she said to Captain Merle, who 
 kept himself at a certain distance from the carriage. 
 
 "About six miles from Fougeres, mademoiselle." 
 
 "We shall soon be there, shall we not?" she went 
 on, to encourage a conversation in which she might 
 show some preference for the young captain. 
 
 "A Breton rnile," said Merle much delighted, "has 
 the disadvantage of never ending ; when you are at the 
 top of one hill you see a valle}' and another hill. When 
 you reach the summit of the slope we are now ascend- 
 ing you will see the plateau of Mont Pelerine in the 
 distance. Let us hope the Chouans won't take their 
 revenge there. Now, in going up hill and going down 
 hill one doesn't make much headway. From La Peler- 
 ine you will still see " 
 
 The young cm if/re made a movement at the name 
 which Marie alone noticed. 
 
 "What is La PMerine?" she asked hastily, inter- 
 rupting the captain's description of Breton topography. 
 
 "It is the summit of a mountain," said Merle, 
 " which gives its name to the Maine valley through 
 which we shall presently pass. It separates this valley 
 from that of Coue'snon, at the end of which is the town 
 of Fougeres, the chief town in Brittany. We had a
 
 The Chonam. 149 
 
 fight there last Vendeiniaire with the Gars and his 
 brigands. We were escorting Breton conscripts, who 
 meant to kill us sooner than leave their own land ; but 
 Hulot is a rough Christian, and he gave them " 
 
 "Did you see the Gars?" she asked. " What sort 
 of man is he? " 
 
 Her keen, malicious eyes never left the so-called 
 vicomte's face. 
 
 " Well, mademoiselle," replied Merle, nettled at be- 
 ing always interrupted, "he is so like citizen du Gua, 
 that if 3'our friend did not wear the uniform of the 
 Ecole Polytechnique I could swear it was he." 
 
 Mademoiselle de Verneuil looked fixedly at the cold, 
 impassible young man who had scorned her, but she 
 saw nothing in him that betra}"ed the slightest feeling 
 of alarm. She warned him by a bitter smile that she 
 had now discovered the secret so treacherously kept ; 
 then in a jesting voice, her nostrils dilating with plea- 
 sure, and her head so turned that she could watch the 
 young man and yet see Merle, she said to the Repub- 
 lican : " That new leader gives a great deal of anxiety 
 to the First Consul. He is very daring, they say ; but 
 he has the weakness of rushing headlong into adven- 
 tures, especially with women." 
 
 u We are counting on that to get even with him," said 
 the captain. " If we catch him for only an hour we 
 shall put a bullet in his head. lie '11 do the same to us 
 if he meets us, so par pari " 
 
 " Oh ! " said the emigre, " we have nothing to fear. 
 Your soldiers cannot go as far as La Pelerine, they 
 are tired, and, if you consent, we can all rest a short 
 distance from here. My mother stops at La Vivetiere, 
 the road to which turns oil' a few rods farther on.
 
 150 The CJiouans. 
 
 These ladies might like to stop there too ; they must be 
 tired with their long drive from Alen(;on without rest- 
 ing ; and as mademoiselle," he added, with forced 
 politeness, ' has had the generosity to give safetv as 
 well as pleasure to our journej', perhaps she will deign 
 to accept a supper from my mother; and I think, cap- 
 tain," he added, addressing Merle, " the times are not 
 so bad but what we can find a barrel of cider for your 
 men. The Gars can't have taken all, at least 1113' mother 
 thinks not " 
 
 "Your mother?" said Mademoiselle de Verneuil, 
 interrupting him in a tone of irony, and making no 
 repl}' to his invitation. 
 
 " Does my age seem more improbable to 3*011 this 
 evening, mademoiselle?" said Madame du Gua. " Un- 
 fortunately I was married very young, and nry son was 
 born when I was fifteen." 
 
 " Are you not mistaken, madame? when you were 
 thirty, perhaps." 
 
 Madame du Gua turned livid as she swallowed the 
 sarcasm. She would have liked to revenge herself on 
 the spot, but was forced to smile, for she was deter- 
 mined at any cost, even that of insult, to discover the 
 nature of the feelings that actuated the young girl ; she 
 therefore pretended not to have understood her. 
 
 "The Chouans have never had a more cruel leader 
 than the Gars, if we are to believe the stories about 
 him," she said, addressing herself vaguely to both Fran- 
 cine and her mistress. 
 
 '' Oh, as for cruel, I don't believe that," said Made- 
 moiselle de Verneuil ; <k he knows how to lie, but he 
 seems rather credulous himself. The leader of a party 
 ought not to be the plaything of others."
 
 The Chouans. 151 
 
 "Do you know him?" asked the emit/re, quietly. 
 
 " No," she replied, with a disdainful glance, u but I 
 thought I did." 
 
 " Oh, mademoiselle, he 's a malin, yes a malin" said 
 Captain Merle, shaking his head and giving with an 
 expressive gesture the peculiar meaning to the word 
 which it had in those days but has since lost. " Those 
 old families do sometimes send out vigorous shoots. 
 He lias just returned from a country where, they say, 
 the ci-devants didn't find life too easy, and men ripen 
 like medlars in the straw. If that fellow is really clever 
 he can lead us a pretty dance. He has already formed 
 companies of light infantry who oppose our troops and 
 neutralize the efforts of the government. If we burn 
 a royalist village he burns two of ours. He can hold 
 an immense tract of country and force us to spread out 
 our men at the very moment when we want them on one 
 spot. Oil, he knows what lie is about." 
 
 " He is cutting his country's throat," said Gerard in 
 a loud voice, interrupting the captain. 
 
 "Then," said the eniiyre," 4i if his death would de- 
 liver the nation, why don't 3-011 catch him and shoot 
 him? " 
 
 As he spoke he tried to look into the depths of Made- 
 moiselle de VerneiuTs soul, and one of those voiceless 
 scenes the dramatic vividness and fleeting sagacity of 
 which cannot be reproduced in language passed be- 
 tween them in a tlasli. Danger is always interesting. 
 The worst criminal threatened with death excites pity. 
 Though Mademoiselle dc Verneuil was now certain that 
 the lover who had cast her off was this very leader of 
 the Chouans, she was not readv to verifv her suspicions 
 by giving him up ; she had quite another curiosity to
 
 152 The Chouans. 
 
 satisfy. She preferred to doubt or to believe as her 
 passion led her, and she now began deliberately to play 
 with peril. Her eyes, lull of scornful meaning, bade 
 the young chief notice the soldiers of the escort ; b\- 
 thus presenting to his mind triumphantly an image of 
 his danger she made him feel that his life depended on 
 a word from her, and her lips seemed to quiver on the 
 verge of pronouncing it. Like an American Indian, she 
 watched every muscle of the face of her enemy, tied, as 
 it were, to the stake, while she brandished her toma- 
 hawk gracefully, enjoying a revenge that was still inno- 
 cent, and torturing like a mistress who still loves. 
 
 " If I had a son like yours, madame," she said to 
 Madame du Gua, who was visibly frightened. '' I should 
 wear mourning from the day when I had yielded him 
 to danger ; 1 should know no peace of mind." 
 
 No answer was made to this speech. She turned her 
 head repeatedly to the escort and then suddenly to Ma- 
 dame du Gua, without detecting the slightest secret sig- 
 nal between the lady and the Gars which might have 
 confirmed her suspicions on the nature of their inti- 
 macy, which she longed to doubt. The young chief 
 calmly smiled, and bore without llinching the scrutiny 
 she forced him to undergo; his attitude and the expres- 
 sion of his face were those of a man indifferent to dan- 
 ger ; he even seemed to say at times: "This is your 
 chance to avenge your wounded vanity take it! I 
 have no desire to lessen my contempt for you." 
 
 Mademoiselle de Verneuil began to study the young 
 man from the vantage-ground of her position with 
 coolness and dignity : at the bottom of her heart she 
 admired his coinage and tranquillity. Happy in dis- 
 covering that the man she loved bore an ancient title
 
 The Ckouans. 153 
 
 (the distinctions of which please every woman), she 
 also found pleasure in meeting him in their present 
 situation, where, as champion of a cause ennobled by 
 misfortune, he was fighting with all the faculties of a 
 strong soul against a Republic that was constantly vic- 
 torious. She rejoiced to see him brought face to face 
 with danger, and still displaying the courage and 
 bravery so powerful on a woman's heart ; again and 
 again she put him to the test, obeying perhaps the 
 instinct which induces a woman to play with her vic- 
 tim as a cat plays with a mouse. 
 
 " By virtue of what law do you put the Chouans to 
 death?" she said to Merle. 
 
 " That of the 14th of last Fructidor, which outlaws 
 the insurgent departments and proclaims martial law," 
 replied the Republican. 
 
 " May I ask why I have the honor to attract your 
 eyes?" she said presently to the young chief, who was 
 attentively watching her. 
 
 " Because of a feeling which a man of honor cannot 
 express to ain' woman, no matter who she is," replied 
 the Marquis de Montauran, in a low voice, bending 
 down to her. " We live in times," he said aloud, 
 " when women do the work of the executioner and 
 wield the axe with even better effect." 
 
 She looked at de Montauran fixedly ; then, delighted 
 to be attacked by the man whose life she held in her 
 hands, she said in a low voice, smiling softly : " Your 
 head is a very poor one ; the executioner does not want 
 it ; I shall keep it myself.'' 
 
 The marquis looked at the inexplicable girl, w^hose 
 love had overcome all, even insult, and who now 
 avenged herself by forgiving that which women are
 
 154 The C'huuans. 
 
 said never to forgive. His eyes grew less stern, less 
 cold ; a look of sadness came upon his face. His love 
 was stronger than he suspected. Mademoiselle de 
 Verncuil, satisfied with these faint signs of a desired 
 reconciliation, glanced at him tenderly, with a smile 
 that was like a kiss ; then she leaned back once more 
 in the carriage, determined not to risk the future of this 
 happy drama, believing she had assured it with her 
 smile. She was so beautiful! She knew so well how 
 to conquer all obstacles to love! She was so accus- 
 tomed to take all risks and push on at all hazards! 
 She loved the unexpected, and the tumults of life 
 why should she fear? 
 
 Before long the carriage, under the young chiefs di- 
 rections, left the highway and took a road cut between 
 banks planted with apple-trees, more like a ditch than 
 a roadway, which led to La Vivetiere. The carriage 
 now advanced rapidly, leaving the escort to follow 
 slowly towards the manor-house, the gray roofs of which 
 appeared and disappeared among the trees. Some of 
 the men lingered on the way to knock the sLiif clay of 
 the road-bed from their shoes. 
 
 "This is devilishly like the road to Paradise," re- 
 marked Beau-Pied. 
 
 Thanks to the impatience of the postilion, Mademoi- 
 selle de Verneuil soon saw the chateau of La Vivetiere. 
 This house, standing at the end of a soil of promontory, 
 was protected and surrounded by two deep lakelets, and 
 could be readied only by a narrow causeway. That 
 part of the little peninsula on which the house and 
 gardens were placed was still further protected by a 
 moat filled with wafer from the two lakes which it con- 
 nected. The house really stood on an island that was
 
 The Chouans. 155 
 
 well-nigh impregnable, an invaluable retreat for a 
 chieftain, who could be surprised there only by 
 treachery. 
 
 Mademoiselle de Verneuil put her head out of the 
 carriage as she heard the rusty hinges of the great 
 gates open to give entrance to an arched portal which 
 had been much injured during the late war. The 
 gloomy colors of the scene which met her eyes almost 
 extinguished the thoughts of love and coquetry in which 
 she had been indulging. The carriage entered a large 
 courtyard that was nearly square, bordered on each 
 side b}' the steep banks of the lakelets. Those sterile 
 shores, washed by the water, which was covered with 
 large green patches, had no other ornament than aquatic 
 trees devoid of foliage, the twisted trunks and hoary 
 heads of which, rising from the reeds and rushes, gave 
 them a certain grotesque likeness to gigantic marmo- 
 sets. These ugh' growths seemed to waken and talk 
 to each other when the frogs deserted them with much 
 croaking, and the water-fowl, startled In- the sound of 
 the wheels, flew low upon the surface of the pools. 
 The courtyard, full of rank and seeded grasses, reeds, 
 and shrubs, either dwarf or parasite, excluded all im- 
 pression of order or of splendor. The house appeared 
 to have been long abandoned. The roof seemed to 
 bend beneath the weight of the various vegetations 
 which grew upon it. The walls, though built of the 
 smooth, slaty stone which abounds in that region, 
 showed many rifts and chinks where ivy had fastened 
 its rootlets. Two main buildings, joined at the angle 
 by a tall tower which faced the lake, formed the whole 
 of the chateau, the doors and swinging, rotten shutters, 
 rusty balustrades, and broken windows of which seemed
 
 156 The C/iouans. 
 
 ready to fall at the first tempest. The north wind 
 whistled through these ruins, to which the moon, with 
 her indefinite light, gave the character and outline of a 
 great spectre. But the colors of those gray-blue gran- 
 ites, mingling with the black and tawny schists, must 
 have been seen in order to understand how vividly a 
 spectral image was suggested by the empty and gloomy 
 carcass of the building. Its disjointed stones and 
 paneless windows, the battered tower and broken roofs 
 gave it the aspect of a skeleton ; the birds of prey which 
 flew from it, shrieking, added another feature to this 
 vague resemblance. A few tall pine-trees standing 
 behind the house waved their dark foliage above the 
 roof, and several 3~ews cut into formal shapes at the 
 angles of the building, festooned it gloomily like 
 the ornaments on a hearse. The style of the doors, 
 the coarseness of the decorations, the want of harmony 
 in the architecture, were all characteristic of the feudal 
 manors of which Brittany was proud ; perhaps justly 
 proud, for they maintained upon that Gaelic ground 
 a species of monumental history of the nebulous pe- 
 riod which preceded the establishment of the French 
 monarchy. 
 
 Mademoiselle de Verneuil, to whose imagination the 
 word " chateau " brought none but its conventional 
 ideas, was affected by the funereal aspect of the scene. 
 She sprang from the carriage and stood apart gazing 
 at it in terror, and debating within herself what action 
 she ought to take. Francine heard Madame du Gua 
 give a sigh of relief as she felt herself in safety beyond 
 reach of the Blues ; an exclamation escaped her when 
 the gates were closed, and she saw the carriage and its 
 occupants within the walls of this natural fortress.
 
 The Chouans. 157 
 
 The Marquis do Montauran turned hastily to Made- 
 moiselle de Verneuil, divining the thoughts that crowded 
 on her mind. 
 
 "This chateau," he said, rather sadly, "was ruined 
 by the war, just as my plans for our happiness have 
 been ruined by you," 
 
 " How ruined?" she asked in surprise. 
 
 " Are you indeed ' beautiful, brilliant, and of noble 
 birth'?" he asked ironically, repeating the words she 
 had herself used in their former conversation. 
 
 " Who has told you to the contrary?" 
 
 "Friends, in whom I put faith; who care for my 
 safety and are on the watch against treachery." 
 
 "Treachery!" she exclaimed, in a sarcastic tone. 
 "Have you forgotten Ilulot and AlenQon already? 
 You have nomemoi 1 }', a dangerous defect in the leader 
 of a party. But if friends." she added with increased 
 sarcasm, "are so all-powerful in your heart, keep your 
 friends. Nothing is comparable to the joys of friendship. 
 Adieu ; neither I nor the soldiers of the Republic will 
 stop here." 
 
 She turned towards the gateway with a look of 
 wounded pride and scorn, and her motions as she did 
 so displayed a dignity and also a despair which changed 
 in an instant the thoughts of the young man ; he felt that 
 the cost of relinquishing his desires was too great, and 
 he gave himself up deliberately to imprudence and 
 credulity. He loved ; and the lovers had no desire 
 now to quarrel with each other. 
 
 " Say but one word and I will believe }'ou," he said, 
 in a supplicating voice. 
 
 "One word?" she answered, closing her lips tightly, 
 " not a single word ; not even a gesture."
 
 158 The Cliouans. 
 
 "At least, be angry with me," he entreated, trying 
 to take the hand she withheld from him, " that is, if 
 you dare to be angry with the leader of the rebels, who 
 is now as sad and distrustful as he was lately happy and 
 confiding." 
 
 Marie gave him a look that was far from angry, and 
 he added: "You have my secret, but I have not 
 yours." 
 
 The alabaster brow appeared to darken at these 
 words ; she cast a look of annoyance on the young 
 chieftain, and answered, hastily : " Tell you my secret? 
 Never ! " 
 
 In love every word, every glance has the eloquence 
 of the moment ; but on this occasion Mademoiselle de 
 Verneuil's exclamation revealed nothing, and, clever as 
 Montauran might be, its secret was impenetrable to 
 him, though the tones of her voice betrayed some 
 extraordinary and unusual emotion which piqued his 
 curiosity. 
 
 " You have a singular wa}' of dispelling suspicion," 
 he said. 
 
 "Do you still suspect me?" she replied, looking 
 him in the eye, as if to say, " What rights have you 
 over me? '' 
 
 " Mademoiselle," said the young man, in a voice 
 that was submissive and yet linn, " the authority you 
 exercise over Republican troops, this escort 
 
 "Ah, that reminds me! My escort and I," she 
 asked, in a slightly satirical tone, 'your protectors, 
 in short, will they be safe here?" 
 
 " Yes, on the word of a gentleman. Whoever you 
 be, you and your party have nothing to fear in my 
 house."
 
 The Chouans. 159 
 
 The promise was made with so loyal and generous 
 an air and manner that Mademoiselle do Verneuil felt 
 absolutely secure as to the safety of the Republican 
 soldiers. She was about to speak when Madame du 
 Gun's approach silenced her. That lady had either 
 overheard or guessed part of their conversation, and 
 was filled with anxiety at no longer perceiving any 
 signs of animosity between them. As soon as the 
 marquis caught sight of her, he offered his hand to 
 Mademoiselle de Verneuil and led her hastily towards 
 the house, as if to escape an undcsired companion. 
 
 " I am in their way,'' thought Madame du Gua, 
 remaining where she was. She watched the lovers 
 walking slowly towards the portico, where they stopped, 
 as if satisfied to have placed some distance between 
 themselves and her. k> Yes, yes, I am in their way," 
 she repeated, speaking to herself; " but before long 
 that creature will not be in mine ; the lake, God will- 
 ing, shall have her. I'll help him keep his word as a 
 gentleman ; once under the water, she has nothing to 
 fear, what can be safer than that?" 
 
 She was looking fixedly at the still mirror of the 
 little lake to the right when she suddenly heard a rust- 
 ling among the rushes, and saw in the moonlight the 
 face of Maix'he-a-Terre rising behind the gnarled trunk 
 of an old willow. Xone but those who knew the 
 Chouan well could have distinguished him from the 
 tangle of branches of which he seemed a part. Ma- 
 dame du Gua looked about her with some distrust; she 
 saw the postilion leading his horses to a stable in the 
 wing of the chateau which was opposite to the bank 
 where Marche-a-Terre was hiding ; Francine, with her 
 back to her, was going towards the two lovers, who at
 
 160 The Chouans. 
 
 that moment had forgotten the whole earth. Madame 
 du Gua, witlj a finger on her lip to demand silence, 
 walked towards the Chouan, who guessed rather than 
 heard her question, " How many of you are here?" 
 
 " Eighty-seven." 
 
 " They are sixty-five ; I counted them." 
 
 " Good," said the savage, with sullen satisfaction. 
 
 Attentive to all Fraucine's movements, the Chouan 
 disappeared behind the willow, as he saw her turn to 
 look for the enemy over whom she was keeping an 
 instinctive watch. 
 
 Six or eight persons, attracted by the noise of the 
 carriage-wheels, came out on the portico, shouting : " It 
 is the Gars ! it is he ; here he is ! " On this several 
 other men ran out, and their coining interrupted the 
 lovers. The Marquis de Moutauran went hastily up to 
 them, making an imperative gesture for silence, and 
 pointing to the farther end of the causeway, where 
 the Republican escort was just appearing. At the 
 sight of the well-known blue uniforms with red facings, 
 and the glittering bayonets, the amazed conspirators 
 called out hastily, " You have surely not betrayed 
 us? " 
 
 " If I had, I should not warn you," said the marquis, 
 smiling bitterly. "Those Blues," he added, after a 
 pause, "arc the escort of this young lad}', whose gener- 
 osity has delivered us, almost miraculously, from a 
 danger we were in at Alenron. I will tell 3011 about 
 it later. Mademoiselle and her escort are here in 
 safety, on my word as a gentleman, and we must all 
 receive them ns friends." 
 
 Madame du Gua and Frannine were now on the 
 portico ; the marquis olfered his hand to Mademoiselle
 
 The Chouans, 161 
 
 de Vernenil, the group of gentlemen parted in two 
 lines to allow them to pass, endeavoring, as they did 
 so, to catch sight of the young lady's features ; for 
 Madame du Gua, who was following behind, excited 
 their curiosity by secret signs. 
 
 Mademoiselle de Verneuil saw, with surprise, that a 
 large table was set in the first hall, for about twenty 
 guests. The dining-room opened into a vast salon, where 
 the whole party were present!)' assembled. These rooms 
 were in keeping with the dilapidated appearance of the 
 outside of the house. The walnut panels, polished by 
 age, but rough and coarse in design and badly exe- 
 cuted, were loose iu their places and ready to fall. 
 Their dingy color added to the gloom of these apart- 
 ments, which were barren of curtains and mirrors ; a 
 few venerable bits of furniture in the last stages of 
 decay alone remained, and harmonized with the general 
 destruction. Marie noticed maps and plans stretched 
 out upon long tables, and in the corners of the room 
 a quantity of weapons and stacked carbines,. These 
 tilings bore witness, though she did not know it, to 
 an important conference between the leaders of the 
 Vendeans and those of the Chouans. 
 
 The marquis led Mademoiselle de Verneuil to a large 
 and worm-eaten armchair placed beside the fireplace ; 
 Francine followed and stood behind her mistress, lean- 
 ing on the back of that ancient bit of furniture. 
 
 u You will allow me for a moment to play the part 
 of master of the house," he said leaving the two women 
 and mingling with the groups of his other guests. 
 
 Francine saw the gentlemen hasten, after a few words 
 from Monttumm, to hide their weapons, maps, and 
 whatever else might arouse the suspicions of the Ke- 
 
 11
 
 162 The Chouans. 
 
 publican officers. Some took off their broad leather 
 belts containing pistols and hunting-knives. The mar- 
 quis requested them to show the utmost prudence, and 
 went himself to see to the reception of the troublesome 
 guests whom fate had bestowed upon him. 
 
 Mademoiselle de Verneuil, who had raised her feet to 
 the fire and was now warming them, did not turn her 
 head as Montauran left the room, thus disappointing 
 those present, who were anxious to see her. Francme 
 alone saw the change produced on the company by the 
 departure of the young chief. The gentlemen gathered 
 hastily round Madame du Gua, and during a conversa- 
 tion carried on in an undertone between them, they all 
 turned several times to look curiously at the stranger. 
 
 " You know Montauran," Madame du Gua said to 
 them ; " he has fallen in love with that worthless girl, 
 and, as you can easily understand, he thinks all my 
 warnings selfish. Our friends in Paris. Messieurs de 
 Valois and d'Ksgrignon. have warned him of a trap set 
 for him by throwing some such creature at his head ; 
 but in spite of this he allows himself to be fooled by the 
 first woman he meets, - a girl who, if my information is 
 correct, has stolen a great name only to disgrace it.' 1 
 
 The speaker, in whom our readers have already 
 recognized the lady AV!IO instigated the attack on the 
 ci turgotine,"' may be allowed to keep the name which 
 she used to escape the dangers that threatened her in 
 Alenron. The publication of her real name would only 
 mortify a noble l';iimly already deeply afllicted at the 
 misconduct of this woman ; whose history, by the bye, 
 has alieady been given on another scene. 
 
 The curiosity manifested bv the company of men 
 soon became impertinent and nlmost hostile. A few
 
 The Chouans. 1G3 
 
 harsh words reached Francine's ear. and after a word 
 said to her mistress the girl retreated into the embrasure 
 of a window. Marie rose, turned towards the insolent 
 group, and gave them a look full of dignity and even 
 disdain. Her beauty, the elegance of her manners, and 
 her pride changed the behavior of her enemies, and 
 won her the flattering murmur which escaped their lips. 
 Two or three men, whose outward appearance seemed 
 to denote the habits of polite society and the gallantry 
 acquired in courts, came towards her ; but her propriety 
 of demeanor forced them to respect her, and none dared 
 speak to her ; so that, instead of being herself ar- 
 raigned by the company, it was she who appeared to 
 judge of them. These chiefs of a war undertaken for 
 God and the king bore very little resemblance to the 
 portraits her fancy had drawn of them. The struggle, 
 really great in itself, shrank to mean proportions as she 
 observed these provincial noblemen, all, with one or 
 two vigorous exceptions, devoid of significance and vi- 
 rility. Having made to herself a poem of such heroes, 
 Marie suddenly awakened to the truth. Their faces 
 expressed to her eyes more a love of scheming than a 
 love of gloiy ; self-interest had evidently put arms into 
 their hands. Still, it must be said that these men did 
 become heroic when brought into action. The loss of 
 her illusions made Mademoiselle de Verneuil unjust, and 
 prevented her from recognizing the real devotion which 
 rendered several of these men remarkable. It is true 
 that most of those now present were commonplace. A 
 few original and marked faces appeared among them, 
 but even these were belittled by the artificiality and the 
 etiquette of aristocrac}*. If Marie generously granted 
 intellect and perception to the latter, she also discerned
 
 164 The Chouans. 
 
 in them a total absence of the simplicity, the grandeur, 
 to which she had been accustomed among the trium- 
 phant men of the Republic. This nocturnal assemblage 
 in the old ruined castle made her smile ; the scene 
 seemed symbolic of the monarchy. But the thought 
 came to her with delight that the marquis at least 
 pla} - ed a noble part among these men, whose only re- 
 maining merit in her eyes was devotion to a lost cause. 
 She pictured her lover's face upon the background of 
 this company, rejoicing to see it stand forth among 
 those paltry and puny figures who were but the instru- 
 ments of his great designs. 
 
 The footsteps of the marquis were heard in the ad- 
 joining room Instantly the company separated into 
 little groups and the whisperings ceased. Like school- 
 boys who have plotted mischief in the master's absence, 
 they hurriedly became silent and orderly. Montauran 
 entered Marie had the happiness of admiring him 
 among his fellows, of whom he was the youngest, the 
 handsomest, and the chief. Like a king in his court, lie 
 went from group to group, distributing looks and nods 
 and words of encouragement or warning, with pressure 
 of the hands and smiles: doing his duty as leader of a 
 party with a grace and self-possession hardly to be ex- 
 pected in the young man whom Mane had so lately 
 accused of heedlessness. 
 
 The presence of the marquis put an end to the open 
 curiosity bestowed on Mademoiselle de Verneuil, but 
 Madame du (lua's scandalous suggestions bore fruit. 
 The Baron du CTIK'HIC, familiarly called " 1'Intiine," 
 who by rank and name had the best right among those 
 present to treat Montauran familiarly, took the young 
 leader by the arm and led him ;ipart.
 
 The Chouans. 105 
 
 " My dear marquis," he said ; " we are much dis- 
 turbed at seeing you on the point of committing an 
 amazing folly." 
 
 " What do you mean by that? " 
 
 " Do YOU know where that girl comes from, who she 
 is, and what her schemes about you are?" 
 
 ''Don't trouble yourself, my dear Iiitime ; between 
 3'ou and me my fancy for her will be over to-morrow." 
 
 "Yes; but suppose that creature betrays you to- 
 night? " 
 
 " I '11 answer that when you tell me why she has not 
 done it already/' said Montauran, assuming with a 
 laugh an air of conceit. " Mv dear fellow, look at that 
 
 O *- 
 
 charming girl, watch her manners, and dare to tell me 
 she is not a woman of distinction. If she gave you a 
 few favorable looks would n't you feel at the bottom of 
 your soul a respect for her? A certain lady has pre- 
 judiced you. I will tell you this : if she were the lost 
 creature our friends are trying to make her out, I 
 would, after what she and 1 have said to each other, 
 kill her myself." 
 
 " Do you suppose," said Madame du Gua, joining 
 them, " that Fouche is fool enough to send you a com- 
 mon prostitute out of the streets? He has provided 
 seductions according to your deserts. You may choose 
 to be blind, but your friends are keeping their eyes 
 open to protect you." 
 
 " Madame," replied the Gars, his eyes flashing with 
 anger, be warned; take no steps against that lady, 
 nor against her escort ; if you do, nothing shall save 
 you from my vengeance. I choose that Mademoi- 
 selle de Verneuil be treated with the utmost respect, 
 and as a lad}' belonging to my family. We are, I 
 believe, related to the de Verneuils."
 
 106 The C'huuans. 
 
 The opposition the marquis was made to feel pro- 
 duced the usual effect of such obstacles on all .young 
 men. Though he had, apparently, treated Mademoi- 
 selle de Verneuil rather lightly, and left it to be sup- 
 posed that his passion for her was a mere caprice, he 
 now, from a feeling of pride, made immense strides in 
 his relation to her. By openly protecting her, his honor 
 became concerned in compelling respect to her person ; 
 and he went from group to group assuring his friends, 
 in the tone of a man whom it was dangerous to contra- 
 dict, that the lady was really Mademoiselle de Verneuil. 
 The doubts and gossip ceased at once. As soon as 
 Montauran felt that harmony was restored and anxiety 
 allayed, he returned to his mistress eagerly, saying 
 in a low voice : 
 
 "Those mischievous people have robbed me of an 
 hour's happiness." 
 
 "I am glad you have come back to me," she 
 said, smiling. "I warn you that I am inquisitive; 
 therefore you must not get tired of my questions. 
 Tell me, in the first place, who is that worthy in a 
 green cloth jacket? " 
 
 " That is the famous Major Brigaut. a man from the 
 Marais, a comrade of the late Mercier, called La 
 Vendee." 
 
 "And that fat priest witli the red face to whom he 
 is talking at this moment about me?" she went on. 
 "Do you want to know what they are saying?" 
 " Do I want to know it? What a useless question ! " 
 " But I could not tell it without offending you." 
 "If you allow me to be insulted in your house with- 
 out avenging me, marquis, adieu!" she said. " I will 
 not stay another moment. I have some qualms already
 
 The Chvuans. 167 
 
 about deceiving those poor Republicans, loyal and con- 
 fiding as they are !'' 
 
 She made a few hasty steps ; the marquis followed 
 her. 
 
 " Dear Marie, listen to me. On my honor, I have 
 silenced their evil speaking, without knowing whether it 
 was false or true. But, placed as 1 am, if friends 
 whom we have in all the ministries in Paris warn me 
 to beware of every woman I meet, and assure me that 
 Fouche has employed against me a Judith of the streets, 
 it is not unnatural that my best friends here should 
 think you too beautiful to be an honest woman." 
 
 As he spoke the marquis plunged a glance into 
 Mademoiselle de Verneiiil's eyes. She colored, and was 
 unable to retrain her tears. 
 
 " I deserve these insults," she said. " I wish } - ou 
 really thought me that despicable creature and still 
 loved me ; then, indeed, I could no longer doubt you. 
 I believed in you when you were deceiving me, and you 
 will not believe me now when I am true. Let us make 
 an end of this, monsieur," she said, frowning, but turn- 
 ing pale as death, " adieu ! " 
 
 She rushed towards the dining-room with a movement 
 of despair. 
 
 "Marie, my life is yours." said the young marquis in 
 her ear. 
 
 She stopped short and looked at him. 
 
 "Xo, no," she said, ' I will be generous. Farewell. 
 In coming with you here I did not think of my past nor 
 of your future 1 was beside myself." 
 
 'You cannot mean that you will leave me now when 
 I offer you my life ? " 
 
 '' You offer it in a moment of passion of desire."
 
 168 The Chouans. 
 
 " I offer it without regret, and forever," he replied. 
 
 She returned to the room they had left. Hiding his 
 emotions the marquis continued the conversation. 
 
 " That fat priest whose name }'ou asked is the Abbe 
 Gudin, a Jesuit, obstinate enough perhaps I ought to 
 say devoted enough, to remain in France in spite of 
 the decree of 1793, which banished his order. He is 
 the firebrand of the war in these regions and a propa- 
 gandist of the religious association called the Saere- 
 Cceur. Trained to use religion as an instrument, lie 
 persuades his followers that if they are killed they will 
 be brought to life again, and he knows how to rouse 
 their fanaticism by shrewd sermons. You see, it is 
 necessary to work upon every man's selfish interests to 
 attain a great end. That is the secret of all political 
 success." 
 
 "And that vigorous, muscular old man, with the 
 repulsive face, who is he? I mean the one in the 
 ragged gown of a barrister." 
 
 "Barrister! he aspires to be considered a brigadier- 
 general. Did you never hear of de Longuy ? " 
 
 " Is that he ! " exclaimed Mademoiselle de Yerneuil, 
 horrified. "You employ such men as that?" 
 
 " Hush ! he '11 hear you. Do you see that other man 
 in malignant conversation with Madame du C!ua?" 
 
 "The one in black who looks like a judge?" 
 
 " That is one of our go-betweens, La Billardiere, son 
 of a councillor to the Breton Parliament, whose real 
 name is something like Flamet ; he is in close corre- 
 spondence with the princes." 
 
 "And his neighbor? the one who is just putting up 
 his white clay pipe, and uses all the fingers of his right 
 hand to snap the box, like a countryman."
 
 The Chouans. 169 
 
 " By Jove, you are right ; he was game-keeper to the 
 deceased husband of that lady, and now commands one 
 of the companies I send against the Republican militia. 
 He and Marche-a-Terre are the two most conscientious 
 vassals the king has here." 
 
 ' ' But she w ho is she ? " 
 
 " Charette's last mistress," replied the marquis. 
 " She wields great influence over all these people." 
 
 " Is she faithful to his memoiT?" 
 
 For all answer the marquis gave a dubious smile. 
 
 " Do you think well of her? " 
 
 "You are veiT inquisitive." 
 
 " She is my enemy because she can no longer be my 
 rival," said Mademoiselle de Yemeni], laughing. "I 
 forgive her her past errors if she forgives mine. Who 
 is that officer with the long moustache?" 
 
 " Permit me not to name him ; he wants to get rid of 
 the First Consul by assassination. Whether he suc- 
 ceeds or not you will hear of him. He is certain to 
 become famous." 
 
 "And you have come here to command such men as 
 these!" she exclaimed in horror. "Are they the 
 king's defenders? Where are the gentlemen and the 
 great lords?" 
 
 " Where?" said the marquis, coolly, " they are in all 
 the courts of Europe. Who else should win over kings 
 and cabinets and armies to serve the Bourbon cause and 
 hurl them at that Republic which threatens monarchies 
 and social order with death and destruction ? " 
 
 " Ah ! " she said, with generous emotion, "be to me 
 henceforth the source from which I draw the ideas I 
 must still acquire about your cause I consent. But 
 let me still remember that you are the only noble who
 
 170 The Chouans. 
 
 does his duty in fighting France with Frenchmen, with- 
 out the help of foreigners. I am a woman ; I feel that 
 if my child struck me in anger I could forgive him ; but 
 if he saw me beaten by a stranger and consented to it, 
 I should regard him as a monster." 
 
 " You shall remain a Republican." said the marquis, 
 in the ardor produced by the generous words which 
 confirmed his hopes. 
 
 " Republican ! no, I am that no longer. I could not 
 now respect you if you submitted to the First Consul," 
 she replied. " But neither do I like to see you at the 
 head of men who are pillaging a corner of France, in- 
 stead of making war against the whole Republic. For 
 whom are you fighting? What do you expect of a king 
 restored to his throne by your efforts? A woman did 
 that great thing once, and the liberated king allowed 
 her to be burned. Such men are the anointed of the 
 Lord, and there is danger in meddling with sacred 
 things. Let God take care of his own, and place, dis- 
 place, and replace them on their purple seats. But if 
 you have counted the cost, and seen the poor return 
 that will come to you, you are tenfold greater in my 
 eyes than I thought you " 
 
 " Ah ! you are bewitching. Don't attempt to indoc- 
 trinate my followers, or I shall be left without a man." 
 
 "If 3~ou would let me convert you, only you," she 
 said, " we might live happily a thousand leagues away 
 from all this." 
 
 "These men whom you seem to despise," said the 
 marquis, in a graver tone, " will know how to die when 
 the struggle comes, and all their misdeeds will be fur- 
 gotten. Besides, if my efforts are crowned with some 
 success, the laurel leaves of victory will hide all."
 
 The Chouans. 171 
 
 " I see no one but }'ou who is risking anything." 
 
 " You are mistaken ; I uin not the only one," he re- 
 plied, with true modesty. " See, over there, the new 
 leaders from La Vendee. The first, whom you must 
 have heard of as ' Lc Grand Jacques," is the Comte de 
 Fontaine ; the other is La Billardiere, whom I men- 
 tioned to you just now." 
 
 " Have you forgotten Quiberon, where La Billardiere 
 pla}-ed so equivocal a part?" she said, struck by a 
 sudden recollection. 
 
 " La Billardiere took a great deal upon himself. 
 Serving princes is far from tying on a bed of roses." 
 
 " Ah ! you make me shudder ! " cried Marie. " Mar- 
 quis," she continued, in a tone which seemed to indicate 
 some mysterious personal reticence, " a single instant 
 suffices to destroy illusions and to betray secrets on 
 which the life and happiness of man}* may depend " 
 she stopped, as though she feared she had said too 
 much ; then she added, in another tone, " I wish I could 
 be sure that those Republican soldiers were in safety." 
 
 " I will be prudent," he said, smiling to disguise his 
 emotion ; " but say no more about your soldiers ; have 
 I not answered for their safety on my word as a 
 gentleman? " 
 
 "And after all," she said, "what right have I to 
 dictate to you ? Be my master henceforth. Did I not 
 tell you it would drive me. to despair to rule a slave?" 
 
 " Monsieur le marquis," said Major Brigaut, respect- 
 fully, interrupting the conversation, " how long are the 
 Blues to remain here? " 
 
 " The}- will leave as soon as the}" are rested," said 
 Marie. 
 
 The marquis looked about the room and noticed the
 
 172 The Chouans. 
 
 agitation of those present. He left Mademoiselle de 
 Verneuil, and his place beside her was at once taken by 
 Madame du Gua, whose smiling and treacherous face 
 was in no way disconcerted by the young chief's bitter 
 smile. Just then Francine, standing by the window, 
 gave a stilled cry. Marie, noticing with amazement 
 that the girl left the room, looked at Madame du Gua, 
 and her surprise increased as she saw the pallor on the 
 face of her enemy. Anxious to discover the meaning 
 of Francine' s abrupt departure, she went to the window, 
 where Madame du Gua followed her, no doubt to guard 
 against any suspicions which might arise in her mind. 
 They returned together to the chimney, after each had 
 cast a look upon the shore and the lake, Marie with- 
 out seeing anything that could have caused Francine's 
 flight, Madame du Gua seeing that which satisfied her 
 she was being obeyed. 
 
 The lake, at the edge of which Marche-a-Terre had 
 shown his head, where Madame du Gua had seen him, 
 joined the moat in misty curves, sometimes broad as 
 ponds, in other places narrow as the artificial stream- 
 lets of a park. The steep bank, washed by its waters, 
 lav a few rods from the window. Francine, watching 
 on the surface of the water the black lines thrown by 
 the willows, noticed, carelessly at first, the uniform 
 trend of their branches, caused by a light breeze then 
 prevailing. Suddenly she thought she saw against the 
 glassy surface a figure moving with the spontaneous and 
 irregular motion of life. The form, vague as it was, 
 seemed to her that of a man. At first she attributed 
 what she saw to the play of the moonlight upon the 
 foliage, but presently a second head appeared, then 
 several others in the distance. The shrubs upon the bank
 
 The Chouans. 173 
 
 wore bent and then violently straightened, and Fran- 
 cine saw the long hedge undulating like one of those 
 great Indian serpents of fabulous size and shape. Here 
 and there, among the gorse and taller brambles, points 
 of light could be seen to come and go. The girl's at- 
 tention redoubled, and she thought she recognized the 
 foremost of the dusky figures ; indistinct as its outlines 
 were, the beating of her heart convinced her it was no 
 other than her lover, Marche-a-Terre. Eager to know 
 if this mysterious approach meant treachery, she ran to 
 the courtyard. When she reached the middle of its 
 grass plot she looked alternately at the two wings of 
 the building and along the steep shores, without dis- 
 covering, on the inhabited side of the house, any sign 
 of this silent approach. She listened attentive!}* and 
 heard a slight rustling, like that which might be made 
 by the footfalls of some wild animal in the silence of 
 the forest. She quivered, but did not tremble. Though 
 young and innocent, her anxious curiosity suggested a 
 ruse. She saw the coach and slipped into it, putting 
 out her head to listen, with the caution of a hare giving 
 ear to the sound of the distant hunters. She saw Pille- 
 Miche come out of the stable, accompanied by two 
 peasants, all three carrying bales of straw ; these they 
 spread on the ground in a way to form a long bed 
 of litter before the inhabited wing of the house, parallel 
 with the bank, bordered by dwarf trees. 
 
 ''You're spreading straw as if you thought they'd 
 sleep here ! Enough, Pille-Miche, enough ! " said a low, 
 gruff voice, which Francine recognized. 
 
 "And won't they sleep here?" returned Pille-Miche 
 with a laugh. ' I 'in afraid the Gars will be angry ! " 
 
 ~ / 
 
 he added, too low for Francine to hear.
 
 174 The Chouans. 
 
 " Well, let him," said Marche-a-Terre, in the same 
 tone. " we shall have killed the Blues anyway. Here's 
 that coach, which you and I had better put up." 
 
 Pille-Miche pulled the carriage by the pole and 
 Marche-a-Terre pushed it by one of the wheels with 
 such force that Francine was in the barn and about 
 to be locked up there before she had time to reflect on 
 her situation. Pille-Miche went out to fetch the barrel 
 of cider, which the marquis had ordered for the escort ; 
 and Marche-a-Terre w r as passing along the side of the 
 coach, to leave the barn and close the door, when he 
 was stopped by a hand which caught and held the long 
 hair of his goatskin. He recognized a pair of eyes the 
 gentleness of which exercised a power of magnetism 
 over him, and he stood stock-still for a moment under 
 their spell. Francine sprang from the carriage, and 
 said, in the nervous voice of an excited woman : 
 "Pierre, what news did you give to that lady and her 
 son on the road? AY" hat is going on here? AA'hy 
 are you hiding? I must know all." 
 
 These words brought a look on the Chouan's face 
 which Francine had never seen there before. The Bre- 
 ton led his innocent mistress to the door ; there he 
 turned her towards the blanching light of the moon, 
 and answered, as he looked in her face with terrify- 
 ing eyes: ''Yes, by my damnation, Francine, I will 
 tell you, but not until 3*011 have sworn on these beads 
 (and he pulled an old chaplet from beneath his 
 goatskin) on this relic, which you know well" he 
 continued, "to answer me, truly one question." 
 
 Francine colored as she saw the chaplet, which was 
 no doubt a token of their love. "It was on that," 
 he added, much agitated, "that you swore "
 
 The Chouans. 175 
 
 He did not finish the sentence. The young girl 
 placed her hand on the lips of her savage lover and 
 silenced him. 
 
 " i^Teed I swear?" she said. 
 
 He took his mistress gently by the hand, looked at 
 her for a moment and said : "Is the lady you are with 
 really Mademoiselle de Verneuil?" 
 
 Francine stood with hanging arms, her eyelids 
 lowered, her head bowed, pale and speechless. 
 
 "She is a strumpet!" cried Marche'-a-Terre, in a 
 terrifying voice. 
 
 At the word the pretty hand once more covered his 
 lips, but this time he sprang back violentl}-. The 
 girl no longer saw a lover ; he had turned to a wild 
 
 o o 
 
 beast in all the fury of its nature. His eyebrows were 
 drawn together, his lips drew apart, and he showed his 
 teeth like a dog which defends its master. 
 
 " I left you pure, and I find you muck. Ha! why 
 did I ever leave you ! You are here to betray us ; to 
 deliver up the Gars ! " 
 
 These sentences sounded more like roars than words 
 Though Francine was frightened, she raised her angelic 
 C3'es at this last accusation and answered calmly, as she 
 looked into his savage face : "I will pledge my eternal 
 safety that that is false. That's an idea of the lady 
 you are serving." 
 
 He lowered his head ; then she took his hand and 
 nestling to him with a pretty movement said : " Pierre? 
 what is all this to you and me? I don't know what 
 you understand about it, but I can't make it out. 
 Recollect one thing : that noble and beautiful .young 
 lady has been my benefactress; she is also yours 
 we live tog-ether like two sisters. No harm must ever
 
 176 The Chouans. 
 
 come to her where we are, you and I in our lifetime 
 at least. Swear it ! I trust no one here but 3'ou." 
 
 " I don't command here," said the Chouan, in a surly 
 tone. 
 
 His face darkened. She caught his long ears and 
 twisted them gentry as if playing with a cat. 
 
 " At least," she said, seeing that he looked less stern, 
 " promise me to use all the power 3-011 have to protect 
 our benefactress." 
 
 He shook hte head as if he doubted of success, and 
 the motion made her tremble. At this critical moment 
 the escort was entering the courtyard. The tread of 
 the soldiers and the rattle of their weapons awoke the 
 echoes and seemed to put an end to Marche-a-Terre's 
 indecision. 
 
 "Perhaps I can save her," he said, "if 3*011 make 
 her sta3' in the house. And mind," he added, " what- 
 ever happens, 3-011 must sta3' with her and keep silence ; 
 if not, no safet\'." 
 
 " I promise it," she replied in terror. 
 
 " Veiy good ; then go in go in at once, and hide 
 3'our fears from eveiy one, even 3'our mistress." 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 She pressed his hand ; he stood a moment watching 
 her with an almost paternal air as she ran with the light- 
 ness of a bird up the portico ; then he slipped behind 
 the bushes, like an actor darting behind the scenes as 
 the curtain rises on a tragedy. 
 
 " Do you know, Merle," said Gerard as the3* 
 reached the chateau, " that this place looks to me like 
 a mousetrap? " 
 
 " So I think." said the captain, anxiously. 
 
 The two officers hastened to post sentinels to guard
 
 The Cliouans. 177 
 
 the gate and the causeway ; then the}' examined with 
 great distrust the precipitous banks of the lakes and 
 the surroundings of the chateau. 
 
 '"Pooh!" said Merle, "we must do one of two 
 things : either trust ourselves in this barrack with per- 
 fect confidence, or else not enter it at all." 
 
 " Come, let 's go in," replied Gerard. 
 
 The soldiers, released at the word of command, has- 
 tened to stack their muskets in conical sheaves, and to 
 form a sort of line before the litter of straw, in the mid- 
 dle of which was the promised barrel of cider. The}' 
 then divided into groups, to whom two peasants began to 
 distribute butter and rye-bread. The marquis appeared 
 in the portico to welcome the oilicers and take them to 
 the salon. As Gerard went up the steps he looked at 
 both ends of the portico, where some venerable larches 
 spread -their black branches ; and he called up Clef-des- 
 Cceurs and Beau-Pied. 
 
 " You will each reconnoitre the gardens and search 
 the bushes, and post a sentry before your line." 
 
 " May we light our fire before starting, adjutant?" 
 asked Clef-des-Coeurs. 
 
 Gerard nodded. 
 
 "There! you see, Clef-des-Coeurs," said Beau-Pied, 
 ''the adjutant's wrong to run himself into this wasp's- 
 nest. If Ilulot was in command we should n't be cor- 
 nered here in a saucepan ! '' 
 
 "What a stupid you are !" replied Clef-des-Coeurs, 
 " have n't you guessed, yon knave of tricks, that this is 
 the home of the beauty our jovial Merle has been whist- 
 ling round? He'll marry her to a certainty that's 
 as clear as a well-rubbed bayonet. A woman like that 
 will do honor to the brigade." 
 
 12
 
 178 The Chouans. 
 
 " True for you," replied Beau-Pied, " and yon may 
 add that she gives pretty good cider but I can't drink 
 it in peace till I kno\v what 's behind those devilish 
 hedges. I always remember poor Larose and Vienx- 
 Chapeau rolling down the ditch at La Pelerine. I shall 
 recollect Larose' s queue to the end of my days ; it went 
 hammering down like the knocker of a front door." 
 
 " Beau-Pied, my friend ; you have too much imagi- 
 nation for a soldier ; you ought to be making songs at 
 the national Institute." 
 
 " If I 've too much imagination," retorted Beau- 
 Pied, "you haven't any; it will take you some time 
 to get your degree as consul.'' 
 
 A general laugh put an end to the discussion, for 
 Clef-des-Coeurs found no suitable reply in his pouch 
 with which to floor his adversary. 
 
 " Come and make our rounds ; I'll go to the right," 
 said Beau-Pied. 
 
 k ' Very good. I '11 take the left/'' replied his comrade. 
 "But stop one minute. I must have a glass of cider; 
 my throat is glued together like the oiled-silk of Ilulot's 
 best hat." 
 
 The left bank of the gardens, which Clef-des-Coeurs 
 thus delayed searching at once, was, unhappily, the dan- 
 gerous slope where Francine had seen the moving line 
 of men. All things go by chance in war. 
 
 As Gerard entered the salon and bowed to the coin- 
 pan)' lie cast a penetrating eye on the men who were 
 present. Suspicions came forcibly to his mind, and lie 
 went at once to Mademoiselle de Verncuil and said in 
 a low voice: " I think you had better leave this place 
 immediately. We are not safe here." 
 
 What can yon fear while I am with }'ou?" she an-
 
 The Chouans. 179 
 
 swered, laughing. " You are safer here than you would 
 be at Mayenne." 
 
 A woman answers for her lover in good faith. The 
 two officers were reassured. The party now moved into 
 the dining-room after some discussion about a guest, 
 apparently of some importance, who had not appeared. 
 Mademoiselle de Verneuil was able, thanks to the silence 
 which always reigns at the beginning of a meal, to give 
 some attention to the character of the assemblage, which 
 was curious enough under existing circumstances. One 
 thing struck her with surprise. The Republican officers 
 seemed superior to the rest of the assembly by reason 
 of their dignified appearance. Their long hair tied be- 
 hind in a queue drew lines beside their foreheads which 
 gave, in those days, an expression of great candor and 
 nobleness to young heads. Their threadbare blue uni- 
 forms with the shabb}' red facings, even their epaulets 
 flung back behind their shoulders (a sign throughout 
 the army, even among the leaders, of a lack of over- 
 coats), -all these things brought the two Republican 
 officers into strong relief against the men who sur- 
 rounded them. 
 
 "Oh, they are the Nation, and that means liberty!" 
 thought Marie ; then, with a glance at the royalists, she 
 added, >; on the other side is a man, a king, and privi- 
 leges."' She could not refrain from admiring Merle, so 
 thoroughly did that gay soldier respond to the ideas she 
 had formed of the French trooper who hums a tune when 
 the balls are whistling, and jests when a comrade falls. 
 Gerard was more imposing. Grave and self-possessed, 
 he seemed to have one of those truby Republican spirits 
 which, in the days of which we write, crowded the French 
 armies, and gave them, by means of these noble indi-
 
 180 The Choiums. 
 
 vidual devotions, an energ}' they had never before pos- 
 sessed. " That is one of my men with great ideals," 
 thought Mademoiselle de Verneuil. u Relying on the 
 present, which they rule, they destroy the past for the 
 benefit of the future." 
 
 The thought saddened her because she could not ap- 
 ply it to her lover ; towards whom she now turned, to 
 discard by a different admiration, these beliefs in the 
 Republic she was already beginning to dislike. Look- 
 ing at the marquis, surrounded by men who were bold 
 enough, fanatical enough, and sufficiently long-headed as 
 to the future to give battle to a victorious Republic in 
 the hope of restoring a dead monarchy, a proscribed 
 religion, fugitive princes, and lost privileges, "He," 
 thought she, " has no less an aim than the others ; 
 clinging to those fragments, he wants to make a future 
 from the past." Her mind, thus grasped by conflicting 
 images, hesitated between the new and the old wrecks. 
 Her conscience told her that the one was fighting for a 
 man, the other for a country ; but she had now reached, 
 through her feelings, the point to which reason will also 
 bring us, namely : to a recognition that the king is the 
 Nation. 
 
 The steps of a man echoed in the adjoining room, and 
 the marquis rose from the table to greet him. lie 
 proved to be the expected guest, and seeing the as- 
 sembled company he was about to speak, when the (Jars 
 made him a hasty sign, which lie concealed from the Re- 
 publicans, to take his place and say nothing. The more 
 the two officers analyzed the faces about them, the more 
 their suspicions increased. The clerical dress of the 
 Abbe (Iiidin and the singularity of the Chouan gar- 
 ments were so many warnings to them ; they redoubled
 
 The Chouans. 181 
 
 their watchfulness, and soon discovered many discre- 
 pancies between the manners of the guests and the topics 
 of their conversation. The republicanism of some was 
 quite as exaggerated as the aristocratic bearing of others 
 was unmistakable. Certain glances which they detected 
 between the marquis and his guests, certain words of 
 double meaning imprudently uttered, but above all the 
 fringe of beard which was round the necks of several of 
 the men and was very ill-concealed by their cravats, 
 brought the officers at last to a full conviction of the 
 truth, which flashed upon their minds at the same in- 
 stant. They gave each other one look, for Madame du 
 Gua had cleverly separated them and they could only 
 impart their thoughts by their eyes. Such a situation 
 demanded the utmost caution. The}* did not know 
 whether they and their men were masters of the situa- 
 tion, or whether they had been drawn into a trap, or 
 whether Mademoiselle de Verneuil was the dupe or the 
 accomplice of this inexplicable state of things. But an 
 unforeseen event precipitated a crisis before they had 
 fully recognized the gravity of their situation. 
 
 The new guest was one of those solid men who are 
 square at the base and square at the shoulders, with 
 rudd ( V skins ; men who lean backward when the\' walk, 
 seeming to displace much atmosphere about them, and 
 who appear to think that more than one glance of the 
 eye is needful to take them in. Notwithstanding his 
 rank, he had taken life as a joke from which he was to 
 get as much amusement as possible ; and yet, although 
 he knelt at his own shrine only, he was kind, polite, 
 and witty, after the fashion of those noblemen who, 
 having finished their training at court, return to live on 
 their estates, and never suspect that they have, at the
 
 The Chouans. 
 
 end of twenty years, grown rusty. Men of this type 
 fail in tact with imperturbable coolness, talk folly wit- 
 tily, distrust good with extreme shrewdness, and take 
 incredible pains to full into traps. 
 
 AVlien, by a play of his knife and fork which pro- 
 claimed him a good feeder, he had made up for lost 
 time, he began to look round on the company. His 
 astonishment was great when he observed the two 
 Republican oflicers, and he questioned Madame du Gua 
 \vith a look, while she, for all answer, showed him 
 Mademoiselle de Verneuil in the same wa}\ "When he 
 saw the siren whose demeanor had silenced the suspi- 
 cions Madame du Gua had excited among the guests, 
 the face of the stout stranger broke into one of those 
 insolent, satirical smiles which contain a whole history 
 of scandal. He leaned to his next neighbor and whis- 
 pered a few words, which went from ear to ear and lip 
 to lip. passing Marie and the two officers, until the}' 
 reached the heart of one whom they struck to death. 
 The leaders of the Vendeans and the Chouans assembled 
 round that table looked at the Marquis de Montaurau 
 with cruel curiosity. The eyes of Madame du Gua, 
 flashing with joy, turned from the marquis to Made- 
 moiselle de Verneuil, who was speechless with surprise. 
 The Republican officers, uneasy in mind, questioned 
 each other's thoughts as they awaited the result of this 
 extraordinary scene. In a moment the forks remained 
 inactive in every hand, silence reigned, and every eye 
 "was turned to the Gars. A frightful anger showed 
 upon his face, which turned waxen in tone. lie leaned 
 towards the guest from whom the rocket had started 
 and said, in a voice that seemed muffied in crape, 
 ' Death of inv soul ! count, is that true? "
 
 The Chouans. 183 
 
 U 0n m\- honor," said the count, bowing gravel}-. 
 
 The marquis lowered his eyes for a moment, then 
 he raised them and looked fixedly at Marie, who, watch, 
 ful of his struggle, knew that look to be her death- 
 warrant. 
 
 k ' I would give my life," he said in a low voice, " for 
 revenge on the spot." 
 
 Madame du Gua understood the words from the mere 
 movement of the young man's lips, and she smiled upon 
 him as we smile at a friend whose regrets are about to 
 cease. The scorn felt for Mademoiselle de Verneuil 
 and shown on even' face, brought to its height the 
 growing indignation of the two Republicans, who now 
 rose hastily : 
 
 ' Do you want anything, citizens ? " asked Madame 
 du Gua. 
 
 '' Our swords, citoyenne," said Gerard, sarcastically. 
 
 ' You do not need them at table," said the marquis, 
 coldly. 
 
 "Xo, but we are going to play at a game you know- 
 very well," replied Gerard. " This is La Pelerine over 
 again." 
 
 The whole party seemed dumfounded. Just then a 
 volley, fired with terrible regularity, echoed through 
 the courtyard. The two officers sprang to the portico ; 
 there they beheld a hundred or so of Chouans aiming 
 at the few soldiers who were not shot down at the first 
 discharge : these they fired upon as upon so many hares. 
 The Bretons swarmed from the bank, where Marche-a- 
 Terre had posted them at the peril of their lives ; for 
 after the last volley, and mingling with the cries of the 
 dying, several Chouans were heard to fall into the lake, 
 where thev were lost like stones in a gulf. Pille-Miche
 
 184 Tlte Cltouans. 
 
 took aim at Gerard ; Marche-a-Terre held Merle at his 
 mercj". 
 
 ' Captain," said the marquis to Merle, repeating to 
 the Republican his own words, "you see that men are 
 like medlars, they ripen on the straw.'' lie pointed with 
 a wave of his hand to the entire escort of the Blues lying 
 on the bloody litter where the Chouans were despatch- 
 ing those who still breathed, and rifling the dead bodies 
 with incredible rapidity. " I was right when 1 told you 
 that your soldiers would not get as far as La Pelerine. 
 I think, moreover, that your head will fill with lead 
 before mine. What say you ? " 
 
 Montauran felt a horrible necessity to A*ent his rage. 
 His bitter sarcasm, the ferocity, even the treachery of 
 this military execution, done without his orders, but 
 which he now accepted, satisfied in some degree the 
 craving of his heart. In his fury he would lain have 
 annihilated France. The dead Blues, the living officers, 
 all innocent of the crime for which he demanded ven- 
 geance, were to him the cards by which a gambler 
 cheats his despair. 
 
 " I would rather perish thus than conquer as you are 
 conquering." said Gerard. Then, seeing the naked and 
 bloody corpses of his men, he cried out, Murdered 
 basely, in cold blood ! " 
 
 " That was how you murdered Louis XVI., mon- 
 sieur," said the marquis. 
 
 * Monsieur,'' replied Gerard, haughtily, " there arc 
 mysteries in a king's trial which you could never com- 
 prehend." 
 
 "Do you dare to accuse the king?" exclaimed the 
 marquis. 
 
 " Do you dare to light your country '". " retorted Gerard.
 
 The Chouans. 185 
 
 "Folly ! " said the marquis. 
 
 "Parricide!" exclaimed the Republican. 
 
 " Well, well," cried Merle, gnyly, " a pretty time to 
 quarrel at the moment of your death." 
 
 "True," said Gerard, coldly, turning to the marquis. 
 " Monsieur, if it is your intention to put us to death, at 
 least have the goodness to shoot us at once." 
 
 " Ah ! that 's like you, Gerard," said Merle, " always 
 in a hurry to finish things. But if one has to travel far 
 and can't breakfast on the morrow, at least we might 
 sup." 
 
 Gerard sprang forward without a word towards the 
 wall. Pille-Miche covered him, glancing as he did so 
 at the motionless marquis, whose silence he took for an 
 order, and the adjutant-major fell like a tree. Marche- 
 a-Terre ran to share the fresh booty with Pille-Miche ; 
 like two hungry crows they disputed and clamored over 
 the still warm body. 
 
 " If you really wish to finish }*our supper, captain, 
 3'ou can come with me," said the marquis to Merle. 
 
 The captain followed him mechanically, saying in a 
 low voice : u It is that devil of a strumpet that caused 
 all this. What will Ilulot say ? " 
 
 " Strumpet! " cried the marquis, in a strangled voice, 
 " then she is one? " 
 
 The captain seemed to have given Montauran a death- 
 blow, for he re-entered the house with a staggering step, 
 pale, haggard, and undone. 
 
 Another scene had meanwhile taken place in the 
 dining-room, which assumed, in the marquis's absence, 
 such a threatening character that Marie, alone without 
 her protector, might well fancy" she read her death- 
 warrant in the eyes of her rival. At the noise of the
 
 186 The Chouans. 
 
 volley the guests all sprang to their feet, but Madame 
 du Gua remained seated. 
 
 It is nothing," she said ; " our men are despatching 
 the Blues." Then, seeing the marquis outside on the 
 portico, she rose. Mademoiselle whom you here see," 
 she continued, with the calmness of concentrated fun*, 
 ' came here to betray the Gars ! She meant to deliver 
 him up to the Republic." 
 
 ' I could have done so twenty times to-day and yet 
 I saved his life," said Mademoiselle de Verneuil. 
 
 Madame du Gua sprang upon her rival like lightning ; 
 in her blind excitement she tore apart the fastenings of 
 the young girl's spencer, the stuff, the embroidery, the 
 corset, the chemise, and plunged her savage hand into the 
 bosom where, as she well knew, a letter lay hidden. In 
 doing this her jealousy so bruised and tore the palpita- 
 ting throat of her rival, taken by surprise at the sudden 
 attack, that she left the bloody marks of her nails, feel- 
 ing a sort of pleasure in making her submit to so de- 
 grading a prostitution. In the feeble struggle which 
 Marie made against the furious woman, her hair be- 
 came unfastened and fell in undulating curls about her 
 shoulders ; her face glowed with outraged modest}', 
 and tears made their burning way along her cheeks, 
 heightening the brilliancy of her eyes, as she quivered 
 with shame before the looks of the assembled men. 
 The hardest judge would have believed in her innocence 
 when he saw her sorrow. 
 
 Hatred is so uncalculating that Madame du Gua did 
 not perceive she had overshot her mark, and that no one 
 listened to her as she cried triumphantly : *' You shall 
 no\v see. gentlemen, whether 1 have slandered that 
 horrible creature."
 
 The Chouans. 187 
 
 "Not so horrible," said the bass voice of the guest 
 who had thrown the first stone. " But for my part, I 
 like such horrors." 
 
 " Here," continued the cruel woman, " is an order 
 signed by Laplace, and counter-signed by Dubois, minis- 
 ter of war." At these names several heads were turned 
 to her. " Listen to the wording of it," she went on. 
 
 "'The military citizen-commanders of all grades, the 
 district administrators, the procureur-syndics, et cetera, 
 of the insurgent departments, and particularly those of 
 the localities in which the ci-devant Marquis de Montau- 
 ran, leader of the brigands and otherwise known as the 
 Gars, may be found, are herein- commanded to give 
 aid and assistance to the citoi/enne Marie Verneuil 
 and to obe}* the orders which she may give them at her 
 discretion.' 
 
 " A worthless hussy takes a noble name to soil it 
 with such treachery," added Madame du Gua. 
 
 A movement of astonishment ran through the 
 assembly. 
 
 " The fight is not even if the Republic employs such 
 pretty women against us," said the Baron du Guenic 
 
 gayly- 
 
 " Especially women who have nothing to lose," said 
 Madame du Gua. 
 
 " Nothing? " cried the Chevalier du Vissard. " Made- 
 moiselle has a property which probably brings her in a 
 pretty good sum." 
 
 " The Republic must like a joke, to send strumpets 
 for ambassadors," said the Abbe Gudin. 
 
 " Unfortunately, Mademoiselle seeks the joys that 
 kill," said Madame du Gua, with a horrible expression 
 of pleasure at the end she foresaw.
 
 188 The Clwuans. 
 
 "Then why are you still living?" said her victim, 
 rising to her feet, after repairing the disorder of her 
 clothes. 
 
 This bitter sarcasm excited a sort of respect for so 
 brave a victim, and silenced the assembly. Madame 
 dn Gna saw a satirical smile on the lips of the men, 
 which infuriated her. and pa3'ing no attention to the 
 marquis and Merle who were entering the room, she 
 called to the Chouan who followed them. " Pille- 
 Miche ! '' she said, pointing to Mademoiselle de Ver- 
 neuil, "take her; she is my share of the booty, and I 
 turn her over to you do what you like with her." 
 
 At these words the whole assembly shuddered, for 
 the hideous heads of Pille-Miche and Marche-a-Terre 
 appeared behind the marquis, and the punishment was 
 seen in all its horror. 
 
 Francine was standing with clasped hands as though 
 paralyzed. Mademoiselle de Yemeni], who recovered 
 her presence of mind before the danger that threatened 
 her, cast a look of contempt at the assembled men, 
 snatched the letter from Madame dti Gua's hand, threw 
 up her head with a Hashing eye, and darted towards the 
 door where Merle's sword was still leaning. There she 
 came upon the marquis, cold and motionless as a 
 statue. Nothing pleaded for her on his fixed, firm fea- 
 tures. Wounded to the heart, life seemed odious to 
 her. The man who had pledged her so much love must 
 have heard the odious jests that were cast upon her, 
 and stood there silently a witness of the infamy she had 
 been made to endure. She might, perhaps, have for- 
 given him his contempt, but she eould not forgive his 
 having seen her in so humiliating a position, and she 
 flung him a look that was full of hatred, feeling in her
 
 The Chouans. 189 
 
 heart the birth of an unutterable desire for vengeance. 
 With death beside her, the sense of impotence almost 
 strangled her. A whirlwind of passion and madness 
 rose in her head ; the blood winch boiled in her veins 
 made everything about her seem like a conflagration. 
 Instead of killing herself, she seized the sword and 
 thrust it through the marquis. But the weapon slipped 
 between his arm and side ; he caught her by the wrist 
 and dragged her from the room, aided by Pille-Miche, 
 who had flung himself upon the furious creature when 
 she attacked his master. Francine shrieked aloud. 
 " Pierre ! Pierre ! Pierre ! " she cried in heart-rending 
 tones, as she followed her mistress. 
 
 The marquis closed the door on the astonished com- 
 pany. When he reached the portico he was still hold- 
 ing the woman's wrist, which he clasped convulsively, 
 while Pille-Miche had almost crushed the bones of her 
 arm with his iron fingers, but Marie felt only the burn- 
 ing hand of the young leader. 
 
 "You hurt me," she said. 
 
 For all answer lie looked at her a moment. 
 
 "Have you some base revenge to take like that 
 woman?" she said. Then, seeing the dead bodies on 
 the heap of straw, she cried out, shuddering: "The 
 faith of a gentleman ! ha ! ha ! ha ! " With a frightful 
 laugh she added : " lla ! the glorious day ! '"' 
 
 " Yes," he said, " a day without a morrow." 
 
 He let go her hand and took a long, last look at the 
 beautiful creature he could scarcely even then renounce. 
 Neither of these proud natures yielded. The marquis 
 may have looked for a tear, but the eyes of the girl 
 were dry and scornful. Then he turned quickly, and 
 left the victim ro Pille-Miche.
 
 190 The Chouans. 
 
 " God will hear me, marquis," she called. "I will 
 ask Him to give you a glorious day without a morrow." 
 
 Pillc-Miche, not a little embarrassed with so rich a 
 prize, dragged her away with some gentleness and a 
 mixture of respect and scorn. The marquis, with a 
 sigh, re-entered the diniug-room, his face like that of 
 a dead man whose eyes have not been closed. 
 
 Merle's presence was inexplicable to the silent spec- 
 tators of this tragedy ; they looked at him in astonish- 
 ment and their eyes questioned each other. Merle saw 
 their amazement, and, true to his native character, he 
 said, with a smile: "Gentlemen, you will scarcely 
 refuse a glass of wine to a man who is about to make 
 his last journey." 
 
 It was just as the company had calmed down under 
 the influence of these words, said witli a true French 
 carelessness which pleased the Yendeans, that Mon- 
 tauran reappeared, his face pale, his eyes fixed. 
 
 " Now you shall see," said Merle, "how death can 
 make men liveh*." 
 
 ''Ah!" said the marquis, with a gesture as if sud- 
 denly awaking, " here you are, my dear councillor of 
 war,'' and he passed him a bottle of vin de Gr(u;e. 
 
 " Oh. thanks, citizen marquis," replied Merle. 
 " Now I can divert myself." 
 
 At this sally Madame du (lua turned to the other 
 guests with a smile, saying, " Let us spare him the 
 dessert." 
 
 " That is a very cruel vengeance, madame," lie said. 
 " Yon forget my murdered friend who is waiting for 
 me; I never miss an appointment." 
 
 "Captain," said the marquis, throwing him his 
 glove, "you are free; that's your passport. The
 
 The Chouans. 191 
 
 Chasseurs du Roi know that they must not kill all the 
 game." 
 
 " So much the better for me ! " replied Merle, " but 
 you are making a mistake ; we shall come to close 
 quarters before long, and I '11 not let you off. Though 
 your head can never pay for Gerard's, I want it and I 
 shall have it. Adieu. 1 could drink with 1113* own 
 assassins, but I cannot stay with those of my friend ; " 
 and he disappeared, leaving the guests astonished at 
 his coolness. 
 
 " Well, gentlemen, what do you think of the lawyers 
 and surgeons and bailiffs who manage the Republic," 
 said the Gars, coldly. 
 
 " God's-death ! marquis," replied the Comte de Bau- 
 van ; " they have shocking manners; that fellow pre- 
 sumed to be impertinent, it seems to me." 
 
 The captain's hasty retreat had a motive. The de- 
 spised, humiliated woman, who was even then, perhaps, 
 being put to death, had so won upon him during the 
 scene of her degradation that he said to himself, as he 
 left the room, ' If she is a prostitute, she is not an 
 ordinar}' one, and I '11 marry her." He felt so sure of 
 being able to rescue her from the savages that his first 
 thought, when his own life was given to him. was to 
 save hers. Unhappily, when he reached the portico, 
 he found the courtyard deserted. lie looked about him, 
 listened to the silence, and could hear nothing but the 
 distant shouts and laughter of the Chouans, who were 
 drinking in the gardens and dividing their booty. He 
 turned the corner to the fatal wing before which his 
 men had been shot, and from there he could distinguish, 
 by the feeble light of a few stray lanterns, the different 
 groups of the Chasseurs du Roi. Neither Pille-Miche,
 
 192 The Chouans, 
 
 nor Marche-a-Terre, nor the girl were visible : but he 
 felt himself gently pulled by the flap of his uniform, 
 and, turning round, saw Francinc on Her knees. 
 
 ' Where is she?" he asked. 
 
 " I don't know ; Pierre drove me back and told me 
 not to stir from here." 
 
 " Which way did they go?" 
 
 " That way," she replied, pointing to the causeway. 
 
 The captain and Francine then noticed in that direc- 
 tion a line of strong shadows thrown by the moonlight 
 on the lake, and among them that of a female figure. 
 
 " It is she ! " cried Francine. 
 
 Mademoiselle de Verneuil seemed to be standing, as 
 if resigned, in the midst of other figures, whose gestures 
 denoted a debate. 
 
 " There are several," said the captain. " Well, no 
 matter, let us go to them " 
 
 " You will get yourself killed uselessly," said Fran- 
 cine. 
 
 "I have been killed once before to-day," he said 
 
 g a . v l v - 
 
 They both walked towards the gloomy gateway which 
 led to the causeway ; there Francine suddenly stopped 
 short. 
 
 ' Xo," she said, gentlv, li I'll go no farther; Pierre 
 told me not to meddle ; I believe in him ; if we go on 
 we shall spoil :ill. Do as YOU please, officer, but leave 
 me. If Pierre saw us together he would kill you." 
 
 Just, then Pille-Miehe, appeared in the gateway and 
 called to the postilion \vlio was left in the stable. At 
 the same moment, he saw the captain and covered him 
 with his mu.-l<et. shouting out. "I5y Saint Anne of 
 Aurav : the reel or was i-;^l;t enough in telling us the
 
 The Chouans. 193 
 
 Blues had signed a compact with the devil. I '11 bring 
 you to lite, I will ! " 
 
 "Stop! my life is sacred," cried Merle, seeing his 
 danger. "There 's the glove of your Gars," and he 
 held it out. 
 
 " Ghosts' lives are not sacred," replied the Chouan, 
 "and I sha'n't give you yours. Ave Maria ! " 
 
 He fired, and the ball passed through his victim's 
 head. The captain fell. When Francine reached him 
 she heard him mutter the words, "I'd rather die with 
 them than return without them." 
 
 The Chouan sprang upon the bod}' to strip it, saying, 
 "There's one good thing about ghosts, they come to 
 life in their clothes." Then, recognizing the Gars' 
 glove, that sacred safeguard, in the captain's hand, he 
 stopped short, terrified. "I wish I wasn't in the skin 
 of my mother's son ! " he exclaimed, as he turned and 
 disappeared with the rapidity of a bird. 
 
 To understand this scene, so fatal to poor Merle, we 
 must follow Mademoiselle de Verneuil after the mar- 
 quis, in his fury and despair, had abandoned her to 
 Pille-Miche. Francine had caught Marche-a-Terre by 
 the arm and reminded him, with sobs, of the promise he 
 had made her. Pille-Miche was already dragging away 
 his victim like a heavy bundle. Marie, her head and 
 hair hanging back, turned her eyes to the lake ; but 
 held as she was in a grasp of iron she was forced to 
 follow the Chouan, who turned now and then to hasten 
 her steps, and each time that he did so a jovial thought 
 brought a hideous smile upon his face. 
 
 li Is n't she a morsel ! " he cried, with a coarse laugh. 
 
 Hearing the words, Francine recovered speech. 
 
 'Pierre?" 
 
 13
 
 194 The Chouans. 
 
 "Well, what?" 
 
 "He '11 kill her." 
 
 " Not at once." 
 
 " Then she "11 kill herself, she will never submit ; and 
 if she dies I shall die too." 
 
 "Then you love her too much, and she shall die," 
 said Marche-a-Terre. 
 
 "Pierre! if we are rich and happy we owe it all to 
 her ; but. whether or no, you promised me to save her." 
 
 " Well, I '11 try ; but you must stay here, and don't 
 move." 
 
 Fran cine at once let go his arm. and waited in horri- 
 ble suspense in the courtyard where Merle found her. 
 Meantime Marche-a-Terre joined his comrade at the 
 moment when the latter, after dragging his victim to 
 the barn, was compelling her to get into the coach. 
 Pille-Miche called to him to help in pulling out the 
 vehicle. 
 
 " What are you going to do with all that?" asked 
 Marche-a-Terre. 
 
 " The Grande Garce gave me the woman, and all that 
 belongs to her is mine." 
 
 " The coach will put a sou or two in your pocket ; 
 but as for the woman, she '11 scratch your eyes out like 
 ti cat." 
 
 Pille-Miche burst into a roar of laughter. 
 
 ' Then I '11 tie her and take her home," he answered. 
 
 tk Very good : suppose we harness the horses," said 
 Marche-a-Terre. 
 
 A few moments later Marche-a-Terre, who had left 
 his comrade mounting guard over his prey, led the 
 coach from the stable to the causeway, where Pille- 
 Miche got into it beside Mademoiselle de Verneuil. not
 
 The Chouans. 195 
 
 perceiving that she was on the point of making a spring 
 into the lake. 
 
 " I sa}-, Pille-Miche ! " cried Marche-a-Terre. 
 
 "What!" 
 
 " I '11 buy all your booty." 
 
 " Ai'e you joking?" asked the other, catching his 
 prisoner by the petticoat, as a butcher catches a calf that 
 is trying to escape him. 
 
 " Let me see her, and I '11 set a price." 
 
 The unfortunate creature was made to leave the coach 
 and stand between the two Chouans, who each held a 
 hand and looked at her as the Elders must have looked 
 at Susannah. 
 
 " Will you take thirty francs in good coin?" said 
 Marche-a-Terre, with a groan. 
 
 "Really?" 
 
 " Done?'' said Marche-a-Terre, holding out his hand. 
 
 " Yes, done ; I can get plenty of Breton girls for 
 that, and choice morsels, too. But the coach ; whose 
 is that?" asked Pille-Miche, beginning to reflect upon 
 his bargain. 
 
 " Mine ! " cried Marche-a-Terre, in a terrible tone of 
 voice, which showed the sort of superiority his ferocious 
 character gave him over his companions. 
 
 " But suppose there 's money in the coach? " 
 
 " Did n't you say, ' Done ' ? " 
 
 " Yes, I said, ' Done.' " 
 
 " Very good ; then go and fetch the postilion who is 
 gagged in the stable over there." 
 
 " But if there 's money in the 
 
 "Is there any?" asked Marche-a-Terre, roughly, 
 shaking Marie by the arm. 
 
 " Yes, about a hundred crowns."
 
 196 The Chouans. 
 
 The two Chouans looked at each other. 
 
 'Well, well, friend,'' said Pille-Miche, "we won't 
 quarrel for a female Blue ; let 's pitch her into the lake 
 with a stone round her neck, and divide the money." 
 
 ' I '11 give you all that money as my share in d'Orge- 
 mont's ransom," said Marche-a-Terre, smothering a 
 groan, caused b} T such sacrifice. 
 
 Pille-Miche uttered a sort of hoarse cry as he started 
 to find the postilion, and his glee brought death to 
 Merle, whom he met on his way. 
 
 Hearing the shot, Marche-a-Terre rushed in the 
 direction where he had left Francine, and found her 
 praying on her knees, with clasped hands, beside the 
 poor captain, whose murder had deeply horrified her. 
 
 tb Run to your mistress," said the Chouan ; ''she is 
 saved." 
 
 lie ran himself to fetch the postilion, returning with 
 all speed, and, as he repassed Merle's body, he noticed 
 the Oars' glove, which was still convulsively clasped in 
 the dead hand. 
 
 "Oho!" he cried. " Pille-Miche has blundered 
 horribly he won't live to spend his crowns." 
 
 He snatched up the glove and said to Mademoiselle 
 de Verneuil, who was already in the coach with Fran- 
 cine : k> Here, take this glove. If any of our men 
 attack you on the road, call out ' Ho, the Gars ! ' show 
 the glove, and no harm can happen to 3"ou. Fran- 
 cine," he said, turning towards her and seizing her 
 hand violently, " you and I are quits with that woman ; 
 come with me and let the devil have her." 
 
 "You can't ask me to abandon her just at this 
 moment ! " cried Francine, in distress. 
 
 Marche-a-Terre scratched his ear and forehead, then
 
 The Chouans. 197 
 
 he raised his head, and his mistress saw the ferocious 
 expression of his C3"cs. " You are right," he said ; " I 
 leave 3 r ou with her one week ; if at the end of that 
 time you don't come with me "he did not finish the 
 sentence, but he slapped the muzzle of his gun with 
 the flat of his hand. After making the gesture of 
 taking aim at her, he disappeared, without waiting 
 for her reply. 
 
 No sooner was he gone than a voice, which seemed 
 to issue from the lake, called, in a muffled tone : 
 " Madame, madame ! " 
 
 The postilion and the two women shuddered, for 
 several corpses were floating near them. A Blue, 
 hidden behind a tree, cautiously appeared. 
 
 "Let me get up behind the coach, or I'm a dead 
 man. That damned cider which Clef-des-Coeurs would 
 stop to drink cost more than a pint of blood. If 
 lie had done as I did, and made his round, our poor 
 comrades there would n't be floating dead in the 
 pond." 
 
 While these events were taking place outside the 
 chateau, the leaders sent by the Vendeans and those of 
 the Chouans were holding a council of war, with their 
 glasses in their hands, under the presidency of the 
 Marquis de Montauran. Frequent libations of Bor- 
 deaux animated the discussion, which, however, be- 
 came more serious and important at the end of the 
 meal. After the general plan of military operations 
 had been decided on, the Royalists drank to the health 
 of the Bourbons. It was at that moment that the shot 
 which killed Merle was heard, like an echo of the dis- 
 astrous war which these gay and noble conspirators
 
 198 The Chouans. 
 
 were about to make against the Republic. Madame 
 du Qua quivered with pleasure at the thought that she 
 was freed from her rival ; the guests looked at each 
 other in silence ; the marquis rose from the table and 
 went out. 
 
 '"He loved her!" said Madame du Gua, sarcasti- 
 cally. " Follow him, Monsieur de Fontaine, and keep 
 him company ; he will be as irritating as a fly if we let 
 him sulk." 
 
 She went to a window which looked on the courtyard 
 to endeavor to see Marie's bod}'. There, by the last 
 gleams of the sinking moon, she caught sight of the 
 coach being rapidly driven down the avenue of apple- 
 trees. Mademoiselle de Verneuirs veil was fluttering 
 in the wind. Madame du Gua, furious at the sight, 
 left the room hurriedly. The marquis, standing on 
 the portico absorbed in gloom}' thought, was watching 
 about a hundred and fifty Chouans, who, having di- 
 vided their booty in the gardens, were now returning 
 to finish the cider and the rye-bread provided for the 
 Blues. These soldiers of a new species, on whom the 
 monarchy was resting its hopes, dispersed into groups. 
 Some drank the cider ; others, on the bank before the 
 portico, amused themselves by flinging into the lake 
 the dead bodies of the Blues, to which the\ - fastened 
 stones. This sight, joined to the other aspects of the 
 strange scene, the fantastic dress, the savage expres- 
 sions of the barbarous and uncouth gars, was so new 
 and so amazing to Monsieur de Fontaine, accustomed 
 to the nobler and better-regulated appearance of the 
 Vendt'an troops, that he seized the occasion to say to 
 the Marquis de Montauran, " What do you expect to 
 do with such brutes?"
 
 The Chouans. 199 
 
 " Not veiy much, my dear count," replied the Gars. 
 
 " Will they ever be fit to manoeuvre before the 
 enemy? " 
 
 "Never." 
 
 " Can they even understand or execute an order?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 " Then what good will the}' be to you?" 
 
 " They will help me to plunge my sword into the en- 
 trails of the Republic," replied the marquis in a thunder- 
 ing voice. " They will give me Fougeres in three days, 
 and all Brittany in ten! Monsieur." he added in a 
 gentler voice, k ' start at once for La Vendee ; if d'Auti- 
 camp, Suzannet, and the Abbe Bernier will act as 
 rapidly as I do, if they '11 not negotiate with the First 
 Consul, as I am afraid they will" (here he wrung the 
 hand of the Vende'an chief) ; ' we shall be within reach 
 of Paris in a fortnight." 
 
 " But the Republic is sending sixty thousand men 
 and General Brune against us." 
 
 " Sixty thousand men ! indeed ! " cried the marquis, 
 with a scoffing laugh. " And how will Bonaparte carry 
 on the Italian campaign? As for General Brune, he is 
 not coming. The First Consul has scut him against the 
 English in Holland, and General Hedouville, the friend 
 of our friend Harras, takes his place here. Do you. 
 understand? " 
 
 As Monsieur de Fontaine heard these words he gave 
 Montauran a look of keen intelligence which seemed to 
 say that the marquis had not himself understood the 
 real meaning of the words addressed to him. The two 
 leaders then comprehended each other perfectly, and the 
 Gars replied with an undefinable smile to the thoughts 
 expressed in both their eyes : " Monsieur de Fontaine,
 
 200 The Chouans. 
 
 do you know my arms? our motto is 'Persevere unto 
 death.' '' 
 
 The Comte de Fontaine took Montauran's hand and 
 pressed it, saying: " I was left for dead at Quatre- 
 Chemins, therefore }'ou need never doubt me. But be- 
 lieve in my experience times have changed." 
 
 "' Yes," said La Billardiere, \vlio now joined them. 
 " You are young, marquis. Listen to me ; your prop- 
 erty has not yet been sold " 
 
 " Ah ! " cried Montauran, " can you conceive of de- 
 votion without sacrifice ? '' 
 
 " Do you really know the king? " 
 
 "I do." 
 
 " Then I admire your loyalty." 
 
 "The king," replied the young chieftain, "is the 
 priest ; I am fighting not for the man, but for the faith." 
 
 They parted. the Vendean leader convinced of the 
 necessity of yielding to circumstances and keeping his 
 beliefs in the depths of his heart : La Billardiere to re- 
 turn to his negotiations in England ; and Montauran to 
 fight savagely and compel the Vendi'ans. by the victories 
 he expected to win, to co-operate in his enterprise. 
 
 The events of the da} 1 had excited such violent emo- 
 tions in Mademoiselle de Verneuil's whole being that 
 she lay back almost fainting in the carnage, after giving 
 the order to drive to Fougeres. Francine was as silent 
 as her mistress. The postilion, dreading some new 
 disaster, made all the haste he could to reach the high- 
 road, and was soon on the summit of La 1'elerine. 
 Through the thick white mists of morning Marie de 
 Verncuil crossed the broad and beautiful valley of 
 Cotiesnon (where this history began) scarcely able to
 
 The Chouans. 201 
 
 distinguish the slaty rock on which the town of Fou- 
 geres stands from the slopes of La Pelerine. They 
 were still eight miles from it. Shivering with cold her- 
 self, Mademoiselle de Verneuil recollected the poor 
 soldier behind the carriage, and insisted, against his 
 remonstrances, in taking him into the carriage beside 
 Francine. The sight of Fougeres drew her for a time 
 out of her reflections. The sentinels stationed at the 
 Porte Saint-Leonard refused to allow ingress to the 
 strangers, and she was therefore obliged to exhibit 
 the ministerial order. This at once gave her safety in 
 entering the town, but the postilion could find no other 
 place for her to stop at than the Poste inn. 
 
 " Madame," said the Blue whose life she had saved. 
 " If you ever want a sabre to deal some special blow, 
 my life is yours. I am good for that. My name is 
 Jean Falcon, otherwise called Beau-Pied, sergeant of 
 the first company of Hulot's veterans, seventy-second 
 half-brigade, nicknamed ' Les Mayen<jais.' Excuse my 
 vanity ; I can only offer you the soul of a sergeant, but 
 that 's at 3'our service." 
 
 He turned on his heel and walked off whistling. 
 
 " The lower one goes in social life," said Marie, bit- 
 terl}*, " the more we find generous feelings without 
 display. A marquis returns me death for life, and a 
 poor sergeant but enough of that." 
 
 When the weary woman was at last in a warm bed, 
 her faithful Francine waited in vain for the affectionate 
 good-night to which she was accustomed : but her mis- 
 tress, seeing her still standing and evidently uneasy, 
 made her a sign of distress. 
 
 " This is called a day, Francine," she said ; " but I 
 have aged ten vears in it."
 
 202 The Chouans. 
 
 The next morning, as soon as she had risen, Corentin 
 came to see her and she admitted him. 
 
 " Franeine," she exclaimed, " my degradation is 
 great indeed, for the thought of that man is not dis- 
 agreeable to me." 
 
 Still, when she saw him, she felt once more, for the 
 hundredth time, the instinctive repulsion which two 
 years' intercourse had increased rather than lessened. 
 
 " Well," he said, smiling. " I felt certain 3-011 were 
 succeeding. Was I mistaken? did you get hold of the 
 wrong man ? " 
 
 " Corentin," she replied, with a trull look of pain, 
 " never mention that affair to me unless I speak of it 
 myself." 
 
 He walked up and down the room casting oblique 
 glances at her, endeavoring to guess the secret thoughts 
 of the singular woman whose mere glance had the power 
 of discomh'ting at times the cleverest men. 
 
 " I foresaw this check," he replied, after a moment's 
 silence. "If you would be willing to establish your 
 headquarters in this town, I have already found a suit- 
 able place for you. AVe ai'e in the very centre of Chou- 
 annerie. Will you stay here?" 
 
 She answered with an affirmative sign, which enabled 
 Corentin to make conjectures, partly correct, as to the 
 events of the preceding evening. 
 
 " I can hire a house for you, a bit of national prop- 
 erty still unsold. They are behind the age in these 
 parts. No one has dared bin- the old barrack because 
 it belonged to an c?niy/-<' who was thought to be harsh. 
 It is close to the chuivh of Saint Leonard; and on my 
 word of honor the view from it is delightful. Something 
 can really be made of the old place ; will you try it?"
 
 The CJiouans. 203 
 
 "Yes, at once,'' she cried. 
 
 " I want a lew hours to have it cleaned and put in 
 order for you , so that YOU may like it." 
 
 " What matter? " she said. " I could live in a cloister 
 or a prison without caring. However, see that ever} T - 
 thing is in order before night, so that I ma}' sleep there 
 in perfect solitude. Go, leave me ; your presence is 
 intolerable. I wish to be alone with Francine ; she is 
 better for me than my own company, perhaps. Adieu ; 
 go go, I say." 
 
 These words, said volubly with a mingling of co- 
 quetry, depotism, and passion, showed she had entirely 
 recovered her self-possession. Sleep had no doubt 
 classified the impressions of the preceding da}-, and 
 reflection had determined her on vengeance. If a few 
 reluctant signs appeared on her face they only proved 
 the ease with which certain women can bury the better 
 feelings of their souls, and the cruel dissimulation which 
 enables them to smile sweetly while planning the de- 
 struction of a victim. She sat alone after Corentin had 
 left her, thinking how she could get the marquis still liv- 
 ing into her toils. For the first time in her life this woman 
 had lived according to her inmost desires ; but of that 
 life nothing remained but one craving, that of ven- 
 geance, vengeance complete and infinite. It was her 
 one thought, her sole desire. Francine's words and 
 attentions were unnoticed. Marie seemed to be sleep- 
 ing with her eyes open ; and the long day passed with- 
 out an action or even a gesture that bore testimony to 
 her thoughts. She lay on a couch which she had made 
 of chairs and pillows. It was late in the evening when 
 a few words escaped her, as if involuntarily. 
 
 "My child," she said to Francine, "I understood
 
 204 The Chouans. 
 
 yesterday what it was to live for love ; to-day I know 
 what it means to die for vengeance. Yes, I will give 
 my life to seek him wherever lie may be, to meet him, 
 seduce him, make him mine ! If I do not have that 
 man, who dared to despise me, at in}' feet humble and 
 submissive, if I do not make him my lackey and my 
 slave, I shall indeed be base ; I shall not be a woman ; 
 I shall not be myself.'' 
 
 The house which Corentin no\v hired for Mademoi- 
 selle de Verncuil ottered many gratifications to the in- 
 nate love of luxuiy and elegance that was part of this 
 girl. The capricious creature took possession of it with 
 regal composure, as of a thing which already belonged 
 to her ; she appropriated the furniture and arranged it 
 with intuitive sympathy, as though she had known it 
 all her life. This is a vulgar detail, but one that is not 
 unimportant in sketching the character of so exceptional 
 a person. She seemed to have been already familiar- 
 ized in a dream with the house in which she now lived 
 on her hatred as she might have lived on her love. 
 
 " At least," she said to herself, " I did not rouse 
 insulting pity in him ; I do not o\ve him my life. Oh, 
 my first, my last, mv onlv love! what an end to it!'' 
 She sprang upon Francine. who was terrified. " Do you 
 love a man? Oh, yes, } - es, I remember; you do. I 
 am glad I have a woman here who can understand me. 
 Ah. my poor Francette. man is a miserable being. Ila! 
 lie said he loved me, and his love could not bear the slight- 
 e>t test! Hut I, if all men had accused him I would 
 have defended him ; if the universe rejected him my 
 soul should have been his refuge. In the old days life 
 wa^ filled with human beings coming and going for 
 whom I did not care ; it was sad and dull, but not hor-
 
 The Ckouans. 205 
 
 rible ; but now, now, what is life without him? He 
 will live on, and I not near him ! I shall not see him, 
 speak to him, feel him, hold him, press him, ha! I 
 would rather strangle him myself in his sleep ! " 
 
 Francine, horrified, looked at her in silence. 
 
 " Kill the man you love?" she said, in a soft voice. 
 
 " Yes, yes, if he ceases to love me." 
 
 But after those ruthless words she hid her face in her 
 hands, and sat down silently. 
 
 The next da}' a man presented himself without being 
 announced. His face was stern. It was Hulot, fol- 
 lowed by Corentin. Mademoiselle de Verneuil looked 
 at the commandant and trembled. 
 
 " You have come," she said, " to ask me to account 
 for your friends. They are dead." 
 
 " I know it," he replied, " and not in the service of 
 the Republic." 
 
 " For me, and by me," she said. " You preach the 
 nation to me. Can the nation bring to life those who 
 die for her? Can she even avenge them? But I I 
 will avenge them ! " she cried. The awful images of 
 
 O o 
 
 the catastrophe filled her imagination suddenly, and 
 the graceful creature who held modesty to be the first 
 of women's wiles forgot herself in a moment of mad- 
 ness, and marched towards the amazed commandant 
 brusquely. 
 
 " In exchange for a few murdered soldiers," she said, 
 " I will bring to the block a head which is worth a 
 million heads of other men. It is not a woman's busi- 
 ness to make war; but } T OU, old as you are, shall learn 
 good stratagems of me. I '11 deliver a whole family to 
 your bayonets him, his ancestors, his past, his future. 
 I will be as false and treacherous to him as I was good
 
 206 The Chouans. 
 
 and true. Yes, commandant, I -will bring that little 
 noble to my arms, and he shall leave them to go to 
 death. I will have no other rival. The wretch himself 
 pronounced his doom, a day without a morrow. 
 Your Republic and I shall be avenged. The Repub- 
 lic ! " she cried in a voice the strange intonations of 
 which horrified Hulot. " Is he to die for bearing arms 
 against the nation? Shall I suffer France to rob me of 
 my vengeance? Ah! what a little thing is life! death 
 can expiate but one crime. He has but one head to 
 fall, but I will make him know in one night that he 
 loses more than life. Commandant, you who will kill 
 him,'' and she sighed, " see that nothing betrays my 
 betrayal ; he must die convinced of my fidelity. I ask 
 that of 3"ou. Let him know only me me, and my 
 caresses ! " 
 
 She stopped ; but through the crimson of her cheeks 
 Hulot and Corentin saw that rage and delirium had not 
 entirely smothered all sense of shame. Marie shud- 
 dered violently as she said the words ; she seemed to 
 listen to them as though she doubted whether she her- 
 self had said them, and she made the involuntary move- 
 ment of a woman whose veil is falling from her, 
 
 " But you had him in your power," said Corentin. 
 
 "Very likely." 
 
 " AVlry did you stop me when I had him?" asked 
 Hulot. 
 
 u I did not know what he would prove to be," she 
 cried. Then, suddenly, the excited woman, who was 
 walking up and down with hurried steps and casting 
 savage glances at the spectators of the storm, calmed 
 down. "I do not know myself," she said, in a man's 
 tone. " \Vhv talk? I must go and find him."
 
 The Cliouans. 207 
 
 " Go and find him ? " said Hulot. " My dear woman, 
 take care : we are not yet masters of this part of the 
 country ; if you venture outside of the town you will be 
 taken or killed before you 've gone a hundred 3*ards." 
 
 " There 's never any danger for those who seek ven- 
 geance," she said, driving from her presence with a 
 disdainful gesture the two men whom she was ashamed 
 to face. 
 
 " What a woman ! " cried Hulot, as he walked away 
 with Corentin. "A queer idea of those police fellows 
 in Paris to send her here ; but she '11 never deliver him 
 up to us," he added, shaking his head. 
 
 " Oh yes, she will," replied Corentin. 
 
 " Don't you see she loves him? " said Hulot. 
 
 " That 's just why she will. Besides," looking at the 
 amazed commandant, " I am here to see that she 
 does n't commit any folly. In in}' opinion, comrade, 
 there is no love in the world worth the three hundred 
 thousand francs she '11 make out of this." 
 
 When the police diplomatist left the soldier the latter 
 stood looking after him, and as the sound of the man's 
 steps died away he gave a sigh, muttering to himself, 
 " It may be a good thing after all to be such a dullard 
 as I am. God's thunder ! if I meet the Gars I '11 fight 
 him hand to hand, or my name 's not Ilulot ; for if that 
 fox brings him before me in any of their new-fangled 
 councils of war, my honor will be as soiled as the shirt 
 of a young trooper who is under (ire for the first time." 
 
 The massacre at La Vivetiere, and the desire to 
 avenge his friends had led Hulot to accept a reinstate- 
 ment in his late command ; in fact, the new minister, 
 Rerthier, had 1'efused to accept his resignation under 
 existing circumstances. To the official dispatch was
 
 208 The Chouans. 
 
 added a private letter, in which, without explaining the 
 mission of Mademoiselle de Vernenil, the minister in- 
 formed him that the affair was entirely outside of the 
 war, and was not to interfere with an}* military opera- 
 tions. The duty of the commanders, he said, was lim- 
 ited to giving needed assistance to that honorable 
 citoyenne, if occasion arose. Learning from his scouts 
 that the movements of the Chouans all tended towards 
 a concentration of their forces in the neighborhood of 
 Fougeres, Ilulot had secretly and with forced marches 
 brought two battalions of his brigade into the town. 
 The nation's danger, his hatred of aristocracy, whose 
 partisans threatened to convulse so large a section of 
 country, his desire to avenge his murdered friends, 
 revived in the old veteran the fire of his 3'outh. 
 
 " So this is the life I craved," exclaimed Mademoi- 
 selle de Verneuil, when she was left alone with Fran- 
 cine. " No matter how fast the hours go, the}' are to 
 me like centuries of thought." 
 
 Suddenly she took Francine's hand, and her voice, 
 soft as that of the first red-throat singing after a storm, 
 slowly gave sound to the following words : 
 
 " Try as I will to forget them, I see those two deli- 
 cious lips, that chin just raised, those eyes of fire ; I 
 hear the ' Hue ! ' of the postilion ; I dream, I dream, 
 why then such hatred on awakening ! " 
 
 She drew a long sigh, rose, and then for the first time 
 looked out upon the country delivered over to civil war 
 by the; cruel leader whom she was plotting to destroy. 
 Attracted by the scene she wandered out to breathe at 
 her ease beneath the sky ; and though her steps con- 
 ducted her at a venture, she was surely led to the
 
 The Chouans. 209 
 
 Promenade of the town by one of those occult impulses 
 of the soul which lead us to follow hope irrationally. 
 Thoughts conceived under the dominion of that spell 
 are often realized ; but we then attribute their pre- 
 vision to a power we call presentiment, an inexpli- 
 cable power, but a real one, which our passions find 
 accommodating, like a flatterer who, among his many 
 lies, does sometimes tell the truth. 
 
 14
 
 210 The Chouans. 
 
 III. 
 
 A DAY WITHOUT A MORROW. 
 
 THE preceding events of this history having been 
 greatly influenced by the formation of the regions in 
 which they happened, it is desirable to give a minute 
 description of them, without which the closing scenes 
 might be difficult of comprehension. 
 
 The town of Fougeres is partly built upon a slate 
 rock, which seems to have slipped from the mountains 
 that hem in the broad valley of Couesnon to the west 
 and take various names according to their localities. 
 The town is separated from the mountains by a gorge, 
 through which Hows a small river called the Nancon. 
 To the east, the view is the same as from the summit 
 of La Pelerine ; to the west, the town looks down into 
 the tortuous valley of the Nanfon ; but there is a spot 
 from which a section of the great valley and the pictur- 
 esque windings of the gorge can be seen at the same 
 time. This place, chosen by the inhabitants of the 
 town for their Promenade, and to which the steps of 
 Mademoiselle de Verneuil were now turned, was des- 
 tined to be the theatre on which the drama begun at 
 La Vivetiere was to end. Therefore, however pictur- 
 esque the other parts of Fougeres may be, attention 
 must be particularly given to the scenery which meets 
 the eve fn>m this terrace.
 
 The Chouans. 211 
 
 To give an idea of the rock on which Fougeres 
 stands, as seen on this side, we may compare it to one 
 of those immense towers circled by Saracen architects 
 with balconies on each story, which were reached by 
 spiral stairways. To add to this effect, the rock is 
 capped by a Gothic church, the small spires, clock- 
 tower, and buttresses of which make its shape almost 
 precisely that of a sugar-loaf. Before the portal of this 
 church, which is dedicated to Saint-Leonard, is a small, 
 irregular square, where the soil is held up by a but- 
 tressed wall, which forms a balustrade and communi- 
 cates by a flight of steps with the Promenade. This 
 public walk, like a second cornice, extends round the 
 rock a few rods below the square of Saint-Leonard ; it 
 is a broad piece of ground planted with trees, and it 
 joins the fortifications of the town. About ten rods 
 below the walls and rocks which support this Prome- 
 nade (due to a happy combination of indestructible slate 
 and patient industry) another circular road exists, 
 called the " Queen's Staircase ; " this is cut in the 
 rock itself and leads to a bridge built across the Nancon 
 by Anne of Brittany. Below this road, which forms 
 a third cornice, gardens descend, terrace after terrace, 
 to the river, like shelves covered with flowers. 
 
 Parallel with the Promenade, on the other side of 
 the Nancon and across its narrow valley, high rock- 
 formations, called the heights of Saint-Sulpice, follow 
 the stream and descend in gentle slopes to the great 
 valley, where they turn abruptly to the north. To- 
 wards the south, where the town itself really ends and 
 the faubourg Saint-Leonard begins, the Fougeres rock 
 makes a bend, becomes less steep, and turns into the 
 great valley, following the course of the river, which it
 
 212 The Chouans. 
 
 hems in between itself and the heights of Saint-Sulpice, 
 forming a sort of pass through which the water es- 
 capes in two streamlets to the Couesnon, into which 
 the}- fall. This prett^v group of rocky hills is called the 
 kt Jsid-aux-Crocs ; " the little vale they surround is the 
 " Val de Gibarry," the rich pastures of which supply 
 the butter known to epicures as that of the " Pre"e- 
 Valaye." 
 
 At the point where the Promenade joins the fortifica- 
 tions is a tower called the " Tour de Papegaut." Close 
 to this square erection, against the side of which the 
 house now occupied by Mademoiselle de Verneuil rested, 
 is a wall, partly built by hands and partly formed of 
 the native rock where it offered a smooth surface. 
 Here stands a gateway leading to the faubourg of Saint- 
 Sulpice and bearing the same name. Above, on a 
 breastwork of granite which commands the three val- 
 leys, rise the battlements and feudal towers of the 
 ancient castle of Fougeres, one of those enormous 
 erections built by the Dukes of Brittany, with lofty 
 walls fifteen feet thick, protected on the east by a pond 
 from which flows the Nan^on, the waters of which fill 
 its moats, and on the west by the inaccessible granite 
 rock on which it stands. 
 
 Seen from the Promenade, this magnificent relic of 
 the Middle Ages, wrapped in its ivy mantle, adorned 
 with its square or rounded towers, in either of which a 
 whole regiment could be quartered, the castle, the 
 town, and the rock, protected by walls with sheer sur- 
 faces, or by the glacis of the fortifications, form a huge 
 horseshoe, lined with precipices, on which the ISretons 
 have, in course of ages, cut various narrow footways. 
 Here and there the rocks push out like architectural
 
 The Chouans. 213 
 
 adornments. Streamlets issue from the fissures, where 
 the roots of stunted trees are nourished. Further on, a 
 few rocky slopes, less perpendicular than the rest, afford 
 a scanty pasture for the goats. On all sides heather, 
 growing from every crevice, flings its rosy garlands 
 over the dark, uneven surface of the ground. At the 
 bottom of this vast funnel the little river winds through 
 meadows that are always cool and green, lying softly 
 like a carpet. 
 
 Beneath the castle and among the granite bowlders 
 is a church dedicated to Saint-Sulpiee, whose name 
 is given to the suburb which lies across the XanQon. 
 This suburb, flung as it were to the bottom of a preci- 
 pice, and its church, the spire of which does not rise to 
 the height of the rocks which threaten to crush it, are 
 picturesquely watered by several affluents of the Nan- 
 c,on, shaded by trees and brightened by gardens. The 
 whole region of Fougeres, its suburbs, its churches, and 
 the hills of Saint-Sulpice are surrounded by the heights 
 of Rille, which form part of a general range of moun- 
 tains inclosing the broad valley of Couesnon. 
 
 Such are the chief features of this landscape, the 
 principal characteristic of which is a rugged wildness 
 softened by smiling accidents, by a happy blending of the 
 finest works of men's hands with the capricious lay of 
 a land full of unexpected contrasts, by a something, 
 hardly to be explained, which surprises, astonishes, and 
 puzzles. In no other part of France can the traveller 
 meet with such grandiose contrasts as those offered by 
 the great basin of the Couesnon, and the valleys hidden 
 among the rocks of Fougeres and the heights of Ilille. 
 Their beauty is of that unspeakable kind in which 
 chance triumphs and all the harmonies of Nature do
 
 2U The Chouans. 
 
 their part. The clear, limpid, flowing waters, the 
 mountains clothed with the vigorous vegetation of those 
 regions, the sombre rocks, the graceful buildings, the 
 fortifications raised by nature, and the granite towers 
 built by man ; combined with all the artifices of light 
 and shade, with the contrasts of the varieties of foliage, 
 with the groups of houses where an active population 
 swarms, with the lonely barren places where the granite 
 will not suffer even the lichen to fasten on its surface, 
 in short, with all the ideas we ask a landscape to 
 possess : grace and awfulness, poesy with its renascent 
 magic, sublime pictures, delightful ruralities, all these 
 are here ; it is Brittany in bloom. 
 
 The tower called the Papegaut, against which the 
 house now occupied by Mademoiselle de Verneuil 
 rested, has its base at the very bottom of the preci- 
 pice, and rises to the esplanade which forms the cornice 
 or terrace before the church of Saint-Leonard. From 
 Marie's house, which was open on three sides, could be 
 seen the horseshoe (which begins at the tower itself) , 
 the winding valley of the NaiiQon, and the square of 
 Saint- Leonard. It is one of a group of wooden build- 
 ings standing parallel with the western side of the 
 church, with which the} 1 form an alley-way, the farther 
 end of which opens on a steep street skirting the church 
 ami leading to the gate of Saint-Leonard, along which 
 Mademoiselle de Verneuil now made her way. 
 
 Marie naturally avoided entering the square of the 
 church which was then above her, and turned towards 
 the Promenade. The magnificence of the scene which 
 met her eyes silenced for a moment the tumult of her 
 passions. She admired the vast trend of the valley, 
 which her eves took in, from the summit of La Pelerine
 
 Tfie Chouans. 215 
 
 to the plateau where the main road to Vitry passes ; then 
 her eyes rested on the Nid-aux-Crocs and the winding 
 gorges of the Val de Gibariy, the crests of which were 
 bathed in the mist}* glow of the setting sun. She was 
 almost frightened by the depth of the valley of the 
 Xancon, the tallest poplars of which scarcely reached 
 to the level of the gardens below the Queen's Stair- 
 case. At this time of day the smoke from the houses 
 in the suburbs and in the valleys made a vapor in the 
 air, through which the various objects had a bluish 
 tinge ; the brilliant colors of the da} r were beginning to 
 fade ; the firmament took a pearly tone ; the moon was 
 casting its veil of light into the ravine ; all things tended 
 to plunge the soul into revery and bring back the mem- 
 ory of those beloved. 
 
 In a moment the scene before her was powerless to 
 hold Marie's thoughts. In vain did the setting sun 
 cast its gold-dust and its crimson sheets to the depths 
 of the river and along the meadows and over the grace- 
 ful buildings strewn among the rocks ; she stood immov- 
 able, gazing at the heights of the Mont Saint-Sulpice. 
 The frantic hope which had led her to the Promenade 
 was miraculously realized. Among the gorse and 
 bracken which grew upon those heights she was certain 
 that she recognized, in spite of the goatskins which 
 they wore, a number of the guests at La Vivetiere, and 
 among them the Gars, whose every movement be- 
 came vivid to her eyes in the softened light of the sink- 
 ing sun. A few steps back of the group of men she 
 distinguished her enemy, Madame du Gua. For a mo- 
 ment Marie fancied that she dreamed, but her rival's 
 hatred soon proved to her that the dream was a living 
 one. The attention she was giving to the least little
 
 216 The Chouans. 
 
 gesture of the marquis prevented her from observing 
 the care with which Madame dti Gua aimed a musket 
 at her. But a shot which woke the echoes of the moun- 
 tains, and a ball that whistled past her warned Ma- 
 demoiselle de Verneuil of her rival's determination. 
 " She sends me her card," thought Marie, smiling. 
 Instantly a " Qui vive?" echoing from sentry to sentry, 
 from the castle to the Porte Saint-Leonard, proved to 
 the Chouans the alertness of the Bines, inasmuch as the 
 least accessible of their ramparts was so well guarded. 
 
 " It is she and he," muttered Marie to herself. 
 
 To seek the marquis, follow his steps and overtake 
 him, was a thought that flashed like lightning through her 
 mind. *' I have no weapon ! " she cried. She remem- 
 bered that on leaving Paris she had flung into a trunk 
 an elegant dagger formerly belonging to a sultana, 
 which she had jestingly brought with her to the theatre 
 of war, as some persons take note-books in which to 
 jot down their travelling ideas ; she was less attracted 
 by the prospect of shedding blood than by the pleasure 
 of wearing a pretty weapon studded with precious 
 stones, and plaving with a blade that was stainless. 
 Three days earlier she had deeply regretted having put 
 this dagger in a trunk, when to escape her enemies at 
 La Vivetiere she had thought for a moment of killing 
 herself. She now returned to the house, found the 
 weapon, put it in her belt, wrapped a large shawl round 
 her shoulders and a black lace scarf about her hair, and 
 covered her hend with one of those broad-brimmed hats 
 distinctive of Chouans which belonged to a servant of 
 the house. Then, with the presence of mind which 
 excited passions often give, she took the glove which 
 Marche-a-Terre had given her as a safeguard, and
 
 The Chouans. 217 
 
 saying, in reply to Francine's terrified looks, " I would 
 seek him in hell," she returned to the Promenade. 
 
 The Gars was still at the same place, but alone. By 
 the direction of his telescope he seemed to be examin- 
 ing with the careful attention of a commander the 
 various paths across the NanQon, the Queen's Stair- 
 case, and the road leading through the Porte Saint- 
 Sulpice and round the church of that name, where it 
 meets the high-road under range of the guns at the 
 
 o o o 
 
 castle. Mademoiselle de Verneuil took one of the little 
 paths made by goats and their keepers leading down 
 from the Promenade, reached the Staircase, then the 
 bottom of the ravine, crossed the Nanqon and the sub- 
 urb, and divining like a bird in the desert her right 
 course among the dangerous precipices of the Mont 
 Saint-Sulpice, she followed a slipper}* track defined upon 
 the granite, and in spite of the prickly gorse and reeds 
 and loose stones which hindered her, she climbed the 
 steep ascent with an energy greater perhaps than that of 
 a man, the energy momentarily possessed by a woman 
 under the influence of passion. 
 
 Night overtook her as she endeavored by the failing 
 moonlight to make out the path the marquis must have 
 taken ; an obstinate quest without reward, for the dead 
 silence about her was sufficient proof of the withdrawal 
 of the Chouans and their leader. This effort of passion 
 collapsed with the hope that inspired it. Finding her- 
 self alone, after nightfall, in a hostile country, she be- 
 gan to reflect ; and Hulot's advice, together with the 
 recollection of Madame du Gua's attempt, made her 
 tremble with fear. The stillness of the night, so deep 
 in mountain regions, enabled her to hear the fall of 
 every leaf even at a distance, and these slight sounds
 
 218 The Chouans. 
 
 vibrated on the air as though to give a measure of the 
 silence or the solitude. The wind was blowing across 
 the heights and sweeping away the clouds with violence, 
 producing an alternation of shadows and light, the effect 
 of which increased her fears, and gave fantastic and 
 terrifying semblances to the most harmless objects. 
 She turned her eyes to the houses of Fougeres, where 
 the domestic lights were burning like so many earthly 
 stars, and she presently saw distinctly the tower of 
 Papegaut. She was but a very short distance from her 
 own house, but within that space was the ravine. She 
 remembered the declivities which bordered the narrow 
 path by which she" had come, and wondered if there 
 were not more risk in attempting to return to Fougires 
 than in following out the purpose which had brought 
 her. She reflected that the marquis's glove would 
 surely protect her from the Chouans, and that Madame 
 du Gua was the only enemy to be really feared. With 
 this idea in her mind, Marie clasped her dagger, and 
 tried to find the way to a country house the roofs of 
 which she had noticed as she climbed Saint-Sulpice ; but 
 she walked slowly, for she suddenly became aware of 
 the majestic solemnity which oppresses a solitary being 
 in the night time in the midst of wild scenery, where 
 lofty mountains nod their heads like assembled giants. 
 The rustle of her gown, caught by the brambles, made 
 her tremble more than once, and more than once she 
 hastened her steps only to slacken them again as she 
 thought her last hour had come. Before long matters 
 assumed an aspect which the boldest men could not 
 have faced without alarm, and which threw Mademoi- 
 selle de Verneuil into the sort of terror that so atfects 
 the very springs of life that all things become excessive,
 
 The Chouans. 219 
 
 weakness as well as strength. The feeblest beings will 
 then do deeds of amazing power ; the strongest go mad 
 with fear. 
 
 Marie heard at a short distance a number of strange 
 sounds, distinct yet vague, indicative of confusion and 
 tumult, fatiguing to the ear which tried to distinguish 
 them. They came from the ground, which seemed to 
 tremble beneath the feet of a multitude of marching 
 men. A momentary clearness in the sky enabled 
 her to perceive at a little distance long files of hideous 
 figures waving like ears of corn and gliding like phan- 
 toms ; but she scarcely saw them, for darkness fell 
 again, like a black curtain, and hid the fearful scene 
 which seemed to her full of }"ello\v, dazzling eyes. She 
 turned hastily and ran to the top of a bank to escape 
 meeting three of these horrible figures who were coming 
 towards her. 
 
 " Did you see it? " said one. 
 
 " I felt a cold wind as it rushed past me," replied a 
 hoarse voice. 
 
 " I smelt a damp and graveyard smell," said the 
 third. 
 
 " Was it white?" asked the first. 
 
 " Why should only he come back out of all those we 
 left dead at La Pelerine ? " said the second. 
 
 "Why indeed?" replied the third. "Why do the 
 Sacre-Coeur men have the preference? Well, at am- 
 i-ate, I 'd rather die without confession than wander 
 about as he does, without eating or drinking, and no 
 blood in his body or flesh on his bones." 
 
 " Ah ! " 
 
 This exclamation, or rather this fearful cry, issued 
 from the group as the three Chouans pointed to the
 
 220 The Chouans. 
 
 slender form and pallid face of Mademoiselle de Ver- 
 neuil. who fled away with terrified rapidity without a 
 sound. 
 
 "Here he is!" "There he is!" "Where?" "There!" 
 " He 's gone ! " " No ! " " Yes ! " " Can you see him ? " 
 These cries reverberated like the monotonous murmur 
 of waves upon a shore. 
 
 Mademoiselle de Verneuil walked bravely in the di- 
 rection of the house she had seen, and soon came in 
 sight of a number of persons, who all fled awa}' at her 
 approach with every sign of panic fear. She felt im- 
 pelled to advance by a mysterious power which coerced 
 her: the lightness of her bod}-, which seemed to herself 
 inexplicable, was another source of terror. These forms 
 which rose in masses at her approach, as if from the 
 ground on which she trod, uttered moans which were 
 scarcely human. At last she reached, not without 
 difficulty, a trampled garden, the hedges and fences of 
 which were broken down. Stopped by a sentry, she 
 showed the glove. The moon lighted her face, and the 
 muzzle of the gun already pointed at her was dropped 
 by the Chouan, who uttered a hoarse cry, which echoed 
 through the place. She now saw large buildings, 
 where a few lighted windows showed the rooms that 
 were occupied, and presently reached the walls without 
 further hindrance. Through the window into which 
 she looked, she saw Madame du Gua and the leaders 
 who were convoked at La Yivetiere. Bewildered at 
 the sight, also by the conviction of her danger, she 
 turned hastily to a little opening protected by iron 
 bars, and saw in a long vaulted hall the marquis, alone 
 and gloomy, within six feet of her. The reflection of 
 the tire, before which he was sitting in a clumsy chair,
 
 The Chouans. 221 
 
 lighted his face with a vacillating ruddy glow that gave 
 the character of a vision to the scene. Motionless and 
 trembling, the girl stood clinging to the bars, hoping, 
 in the deep silence that pervaded everything, to catch 
 his words if he spoke. Seeing him so depressed, dis- 
 heartened, and pale, she believed herself the cause of 
 his sadness. Her anger changed to pity, her pity to 
 tenderness, and she suddenly knew that it was not re- 
 venge alone which had brought her there. 
 
 The marquis rose, turned his head, and stood amazed 
 when he saw, as if in a cloud, Mademoiselle cle Ver- 
 neuil's face ; then he shook his head with a gesture of 
 impatience and contempt, exclaiming : kt Must I forever 
 see the face of that devil, even when awake ? " 
 
 This utter contempt for her forced a half-maddened 
 laugh from the unhappy girl which made the young 
 leader quiver. lie sprang to the window, but Made- 
 moiselle de Verneuil was gone. She heard the steps of 
 a man behind her, which she supposed to be those of 
 the marquis, and. to escape him, she knew no obstacles ; 
 she would have scaled walls and flown through air ; she 
 would have found and followed a path to hell sooner 
 than have seen again, in flaming letters on the fore- 
 head of that man, u I despise you," words which an 
 inward voice sounded in her soul with the noise of a 
 trumpet. 
 
 After walking a short distance without knowing 
 where she went, she stopped, conscious of a damp ex- 
 halation. Alarmed by the sound of voices, she went 
 down some steps which led into a cellar. As she 
 reached the last of them, she stopped to listen and dis- 
 cover the direction her pursuers might take. Above 
 the sounds from the outside, which were somewhat
 
 222 The Chouans. 
 
 loud, she could hear within the lugubrious moans of a 
 human being, which added to her terror. Rays of light 
 coming down the steps made her fear that this retreat 
 was only too well known to her enemies, and, to escape 
 them, she summoned fresh energy. Some moments 
 later, after recovering her composure of mind, it was 
 difficult for her to conceive by what means she had 
 been able to climb a little wall, in a recess of which she 
 was now hidden. She took no notice at first of the 
 cramped position in which she was, but before long 
 the pain of it became intolerable, for she was bending 
 double under the arched opening of a vault, like the 
 crouching Venus which ignorant persons attempt to 
 squeeze into too narrow a niche. The wall, which 
 was rather thick and built of granite, formed a low 
 partition between the stairway and the cellar whence 
 the groans were issuing. Presently she saw an indi- 
 vidual, clothed in a goatskin, enter the cave beneath 
 her, and move about, without making am* sign of eager 
 search. Impatient to discover if she had any chance 
 of safety. Mademoiselle de Verneuil waited with anxi- 
 ety till the light brought by the new-comer lighted the 
 whole cave, where she could partly distinguish a form- 
 less but living mass which was trying to reach a part of 
 the wall, with violent and repeated jerks, something 
 like those of a carp lying out of the water on a shore. 
 
 A small pine torch threw its blue and hazy light into 
 the cave. In spite of the gloomy poetic effects which 
 Mademoiselle do Yemenil's imagination cast about this 
 vaulted chamber, which was echoing to the sounds of a 
 pitiful prayer, she was obliged to admit that the place 
 was nothing more than an underground kitchen, evi- 
 dently long abandoned. When the formless mass was
 
 The Chouans. 223 
 
 distinguishable it proved to be a short and very fat 
 man, whose limbs were carefully bound before he 
 had been left lying on the damp stone floor of the 
 kitchen by those who had seized him. When he saw 
 the new-comer approach him with a torch iu one hand 
 and a fagot of sticks in the other, the captive gave a 
 dreadful groan, which so wrought upon the sensibilities 
 of Mademoiselle de Verneuil that she forgot her own 
 terror and despair and the cramped position of all her 
 limbs, which were growing numb. But she made a 
 great effort and remained still. The Chouan flung the 
 sticks into the fireplace, after tn'ing the strength of an 
 old crane which was fastened to a long iron bar ; then 
 he set fire to the wood with his torch. Marie saw with 
 terror that the man was the same Pille-Miche to whom 
 her rival had delivered her, and whose figure, illumin- 
 ated by the flame, was like that of the little boxwood 
 men so grotesquely carved in Germany. The moans of 
 his prisoner produced a broad grin upon features that 
 were ribbed with wrinkles and tanned by the sun. 
 
 "You see," he said to his victim, "that we Chris- 
 tians keep our promises, which you don't. That fire is 
 going to thaw out your legs and tongue and hands. 
 Hey ! hey ! I don't see a dripping-pan to put under 
 your feet ; they are so fat the grease may put out the 
 fire. Your house must be badly furnished if it can 't 
 give its master all he wants to warm him." 
 
 The victim uttered a sharp cry, as if he hoped some- 
 one would hear him through the ceiling and come to his 
 assistance. 
 
 "Ho! sing away, Monsieur d'Orgemont ; they are 
 all asleep upstairs, and Marche-a-Terre is just behind 
 me ; lie '11 shut the cellar door."
 
 224 The Chouans. 
 
 While speaking Pille-Miche was sounding with the 
 butt-end of his musket the mantel-piece of the chimney, 
 the tiles of the floor, the walls and the ovens, to dis- 
 cover, if possible, where the miser hid his gold. This 
 search was made with such adroitness that d'Orgcmont 
 kept silence, as if he feared to have been betrayed by 
 some frightened servant ; for, though he trusted his 
 secrets to no one, his habits gave plenty of ground for 
 logical deductions. Pille-Mlche turned several times 
 sharply to look at his victim, as children do when they 
 try to guess, by the conscious expression of the comrade 
 who has hidden an article, whether they are nearer or 
 farther away from it. D'Orgeraont pretended to be 
 alarmed when the Chouan tapped the ovens, which 
 sounded hollow, and seemed to wish to play upon his 
 eager credulit}'. Just then three other Chouans rushed 
 down the steps and entered the kitchen. .Seeing 
 Marchc-a-Tcrre among them Pille-Miche discontinued 
 his search, after casting upon d'Orgemont a look that 
 conveyed the wrath of his balked covetousness. 
 
 " Marie Lambrequin has come to life ! '" cried Marche- 
 a-Terre. proclaiming by his manner that all other inter- 
 ests were of no account beside this great piece of news. 
 
 " I 'in not surprised," said Pille-Miche, ' he took the 
 sacrament so often ; the good God belonged to him." 
 
 " lla ! ha ! " observed Mene-a-Bien, " that did n't stand 
 him in anything at his death. lie hadn't received ab- 
 solution before the affair at La Pelerine. He had cheap- 
 ened ("ioguelifs daughter, and was living in mortal sin. 
 The Abb;' Gudin said he'd have to roam round two 
 months as a ghost before lie could come to Iffe. AVe 
 saw him pass us, he was pale, he was cold, he was 
 thin, he smelt of the cemetery."
 
 The Chouans. 225 
 
 "And his Reverence says that if a ghost gets hold 
 of a living man he can force him to be his companion," 
 said the fourth Cliouan. 
 
 The grotesque appearance of the last speaker drew 
 Marche-a-Terre from the pious reflections he had been 
 making on the accomplishment of this miracle of com- 
 ing to life which, according to the Abbe Gudin would 
 happen to every true defender of religion and the king. 
 
 " You see, Galope-Chopine," he said to the fourth 
 man gravely, " what comes of omitting even the small- 
 est duty commanded by our holy religion. It is a 
 warning to us, given by Saint Anne of Auray, to be 
 rigorous with ourselves for the slightest sin. Your 
 cousin Pille-Miche has asked the Gars to give you the 
 surveillance of Fougores, and the Gars consents, and 
 3'ou '11 be well paid but you know with what flour we 
 bake a traitor's bread." 
 
 " Yes, Monsieur Marche-a-Terre." 
 
 " And you know why I tell you that. Some say you 
 like cider and gambling, but you can't play heads or tails 
 now, remember; you must belong to us only, or 
 
 "By your leave, Monsieur Marche-a-Terre, cider 
 and stakes are two good things which don't hinder a 
 man's salvation." 
 
 "If my cousin commits any foil}"," said Pille-Miche, 
 " it will be out of ignorance." 
 
 " In any way he commits it, if harm comes," said 
 Marche-a-Terre, in a voice which made the arched roof 
 tremble, " my gun won't miss him. You will answer 
 for him to me," he added, turning to Pille-Michc ; " for 
 if he does wrong I shall take it out on the thing that 
 
 o O 
 
 fills your goatskin." 
 
 " Butj Monsieur Marche-a-Terre, with all due re- 
 
 15
 
 226 The Chouans. 
 
 spect," said Galope-Chopine, " haven't you sometimes 
 taken a counterfeit Chouan for a real one." 
 
 " M}- friend/'' said Marche-a-Terre in a curt tone, 
 " don't let tliat happen in your case, or I '11 cut you in 
 two like a turnip. As to the emissaries of the Gars, 
 the}- all cany his glove, but since that affair at La 
 Vivetiere the Grande Garce has added a green ribbon 
 to it." 
 
 Pille-Miche nudged his comrade by the elbow and 
 showed him d'Orgemont, who was pretending to be 
 asleep ; but Pille-Miche and Marche-a-Terre both knew 
 by experience that no one ever slept by the corner of 
 their fire, and though the last words said to Galope- 
 Chopine were almost whispered, they must have been 
 heard by the victim, and the four Chouans looked at 
 him fixedly, thinking perhaps that fear had deprived 
 him of his senses. 
 
 Suddenly, at a slight sign from Marche-a-Terre, Pille- 
 Miche pulled off d'Orgemont's shoes and stockings, 
 Mene-a-Bien and Galope-Chopine seized him round the 
 body and carried him to the fire. Then Marche-a-Terre 
 took one of the thongs that tied the fagots and fastened 
 the miser's feet to the crane. These actions and the 
 horrible celerity with which they were done brought 
 cries from the victim, which became heart-rending when 
 Pille-Miche gathered the burning sticks under his legs. 
 
 l - My friends, my good friends," screamed d'Orge- 
 mont, 'you hurt me, you kill me! I'm a Christian 
 like YOU." 
 
 ''Yon lie in your throat!" replied Marche-a-Terre. 
 " Your brother denied God ; and as for you, you bought 
 the abbey of Juvigny. The Abbe Gudin says we can 
 roast apostates when we find them."
 
 The Chouans. 227 
 
 " But, m} T brothers in God, I don't refuse to pa}-." 
 
 " We gave you two weeks, and it is now two months, 
 and Galope-Chopine here has n't received the money." 
 
 " Haven't you received any of it, Galope-Chopine?" 
 asked the miser, in despair. 
 
 ' None of it, Monsieur d'Orgemont," replied Galope- 
 Chopine, frightened. 
 
 The cries, which had sunk into groans, continuous 
 as the rattle in a dying throat, now began again with 
 dreadful violence. Accustomed to such scenes, the 
 four Chouans looked at d'Orgemont, who was twisting 
 arid howling, so coolly that they seemed like travellers 
 watching before an inn fire till the roast meat was done 
 enough to eat. 
 
 "I'm dying, I'm dying!" cried the victim, "and 
 you won't get my money." 
 
 In spite of these agonizing cries, Pille-Miehe saw that 
 the fire did not yet scorch the skin ; he drew the sticks 
 cleverly together so as to make a slight flame. On this 
 d'Orgemont called out in a quavering voice : " My 
 friends, unbind me! How much do you want? A 
 hundred crowns a thousand crowns ten thousand 
 crowns a hundred thousand crowns I offer you two 
 hundred thousand crowns ! " 
 
 The voice became so lamentable that Mademoiselle 
 de Verneuil forgot her own danger and uttered an 
 exclamation. 
 
 'Who spoke?" asked Marche-a-Terre. 
 
 The Chouans looked about them with terrified eyes. 
 These men, so brave in fight, were unable to face a 
 ghost. Pille-Miche alone continued to listen to the 
 promises which the flames were now extracting from 
 his victim.
 
 228 The Chouans. 
 
 "Five hundred thousand crowns yes, I'll give 
 them," cried the victim. 
 
 "Well, where are they?" answered Pille-Miche, 
 tranquilly. 
 
 "Under the first apple-tree Holy Virgin! at the 
 bottom of the garden to the left you are brigands 
 thieves ! Ah ! I 'm dying there 's ten thousand 
 francs " 
 
 "Francs! we don't want francs," said Marche-a- 
 Terre ; "those Republican coins have pagan figures 
 which ought n't to pass." 
 
 " They are not francs, the}' are good louis d'or. But 
 oh ! undo me, unbind me ! I 've told you where my 
 life is my money." 
 
 The four Chouans looked at each other as if thinking 
 which of their number they could trust sufficiently to 
 disinter the money. 
 
 The cannibal cruelty of the scene so horrified Made- 
 moiselle de Verneuil that she could bear it no longer. 
 Though doubtful whether the role of ghost, which her 
 pale face and the Chouan superstitions evidently 
 assigned to her, would carry her safely through the 
 danger, she called out, courageously, " Do you not fear 
 God's anger? Unbind him, brutes! " 
 
 The Chouans raised their heads and saw in the air 
 above them two eyes which shone like stars, and they 
 fled, terrified. Mademoiselle de Verneuil sprang into 
 the kitchen, ran to d'Orgemont, and pulled him so vio- 
 lently from the crane that the thong broke. Then with 
 the blade of her dagger she cut the cords which bound 
 him. When the miser was free and on his feet, the first 
 expression of his face was a painful but sardonic grin. 
 
 "Apple-tree! yes, go to the apple-tree, you brig-
 
 The Chouans. 229 
 
 ands," be said. " Ho, ho ! this is the second time I 've 
 fooled them. They won't get a third chance at me." 
 
 So saying, he caught Mademoiselle de Verneuil's 
 hand, drew her under the mantel-shelf to the back of 
 the hearth in a way to avoid disturbing the fire, which 
 covered only a small part of it ; then he touched a 
 spring; the iron back was lifted, and when their ene- 
 mies returned to the kitchen the heavy door of the hid- 
 ing-place had already fallen noiselessly. Mademoiselle 
 de Verneuil then understood the carp-like movements 
 she had seen the miser making. 
 
 " The ghost has taken the Blue with him," cried the 
 voice of Marehe-a-Terre. 
 
 The fright of the Chouans must have been great, for 
 the words were followed by a stillness so profound that 
 d'Orgemont and his companion could hear them mutter- 
 ing to themselves: "Ave, sancta Anna Auriaca gratia 
 plena, Dominus tecum," etc. 
 
 "They are praying, the fools!" cried d'Orgemont. 
 
 " Hush ! are not you afraid they will discover us?" 
 said Mademoiselle de Verneuil, checking her companion. 
 
 The old man's laugh dissipated her fears. 
 
 " That iron back is set in a wall of granite two feet 
 thick," he said. " We can hear them, but the}' can't 
 hear us.'' 
 
 Then he took the hand of his preserver and placed it 
 near a crevice through which a current of fresh air was 
 blowing. She then perceived that the opening was 
 made in the shaft of the chimney. 
 
 " Ai ! ai ! " cried d'Orgemont. "The devil! how 
 my legs smart ! " 
 
 The Chouans, having finished their prayer, departed, 
 and the old miser again caught the hand of his com-
 
 230 The Chouans. 
 
 panion and helped her to climb some narrow winding 
 steps cut in the granite wall. When they had mounted 
 some twenty of these steps the gleam of a lamp dimly 
 lighted their heads. The miser stopped, turned to his 
 companion, examined her face as if it were a bank note 
 he was doubtful about cashing, and heaved a heavy sigh. 
 
 " By bringing you here," he said, after a moment's 
 silence, " I have paid you in full for the service }'ou 
 did me ; I don't see why I should give you " 
 
 " Monsieur, I ask nothing of you," she said. 
 
 These words, and also, perhaps, the disdainful expres- 
 sion on the beautiful face, reassured the old man, for 
 he answered, not without a sigh, " All ! if you take it 
 that way, I have gone too far not to continue on." 
 
 He politehy assisted Marie to climb a few more steps 
 rather strangely constructed, and half willingly, half 
 reluctantly, ushered her into a small closet about four 
 feet square, lighted by a lamp hanging from the ceiling. 
 It was easy to see that the miser had made preparations 
 to spend more than one day in this retreat if the events 
 of the civil war compelled him to hide himself. 
 
 " Don't brush against that wall, you might whiten 
 yourself," said d'Orgemont suddenly, as he hurriedly 
 put his hand between the girl's shawl and the stones 
 which seemed to have been lately whitewashed. The 
 old man's action produced quite another effect from 
 that he had intended. Marie looked about her and 
 saw in one corner a sort of projection, the shape of 
 which forced from her a cry of terror, for she fancied it 
 was that of a human being standing erect and mortared 
 into the wall. D'Orgemont made a violent sign to her 
 to hold her tongue, and his little eyes of a porcelain 
 blue showed as much fear as those of his companion.
 
 The Chouans. 231 
 
 "Fool! do you think I murdered him? It is the 
 body of my brother," and the old man gave a lugubrious 
 sigh. " He was the first s\vorn-in priest ; and this was 
 the only asylum where he was safe against the fury of 
 the Chouans and the other priests, lie was my elder 
 brother, and he alone had the patience to teach me the 
 decimal calculus. Oh ! he was a good priest ! He was 
 economical and laid by money. It is four years since 
 he died ; I don't know what was the matter with him ; 
 perhaps it was that priests are so in the habit of kneel- 
 ing down to pray that he couldn't get accustomed to 
 standing upright here as I do. I walled him up there ; 
 they \l have dug him up elsewhere. Some day perhaps 
 I can put him in hoh" ground, as he used to call it, 
 poor man, he only took the oath out of fear." 
 
 A tear rolled from the hard eyes of the little old 
 man, whose rusty wig suddenly seemed less hideous 
 to the girl, and she turned her eyes respectfully away 
 from his distress. But, in spite of these tender remi- 
 niscences, d'Orgemont kept on saying, " Don't go near 
 the wall, you might " 
 
 His eyes never ceased to watch hers, hoping thus to 
 prevent her from examining too closely the walls of 
 the closet, where the close air was scarcely enough to 
 inflate the lungs. Marie succeeded, however, in getting 
 a sufficiently good look in spite of her Argus, and 
 she came to the conclusion that the strange protuber- 
 ances in the walls were neither more nor less than 
 sacks of coin which the miser had placed there and 
 plastered up. 
 
 Old d'Orgemont was now in a state of almost gro- 
 tesque bewilderment. The pain in his legs, the terror 
 he felt at seeing a human being in the inidst of his
 
 232 The C'houans. 
 
 hoards, could be read in even* wrinkle of his face, and 
 yet at the same time his eves expressed, w ! th unac- 
 customed fire, a lively emotion excited in him by the 
 presence of his liberator, whose white and rosy cheek 
 invited kisses, and whose velvety black eye sent waves 
 of blood to his heart, so hot that he was much in doubt 
 whether they were signs of life or of death. 
 
 " Are you married?" he asked, in a trembling voice. 
 
 " No," she said, smiling. 
 
 " I have a little something," he continued, heaving a 
 sigh, " though I am not so rich as people think for, A 
 young girl like you must love diamonds, trinkets, car- 
 riages, money. I 've got all that to give after my 
 death. Iley ! if you will " 
 
 The old man's eyes were so shrewd and betrayed 
 such calculation in this ephemeral love that Mademoi- 
 selle de Verneuil, as she shook her head in sign of 
 refusal, felt that his desire to marry her was solely 
 to bury his secret in another himself. 
 
 'Money!" she said, with a look of scorn which 
 made him satisfied and angry both ; " mone\' is nothing 
 to me. You would be three times as rich as you are, 
 if you had all the gold that I have refused " she 
 stopped suddenly. 
 
 " Don't go near that wall, or " 
 
 "But I hear a voice," she said ; u it echoes through 
 that wall, a voice that is more to me than all your 
 richos." 
 
 Before the miser could stop her Marie had laid her 
 hand on a small colored engraving of Louis XV. on 
 horseback ; to her amazement it turned, and she saw, 
 in a room beneath her, the Marquis de Montauran, who 
 was loading a musket. The opening, hidden by a little
 
 The Chouans. 233 
 
 panel on which the picture was gummed, seemed to 
 form some ornament in the ceiling of the adjoining 
 chamber, which, no doubt, was the bedroom of the 
 royalist general. D' Orgemont closed the opening with 
 much precaution, and looked at the girl stern hy. 
 
 " Don't say a word if you love your life. You 
 have n't thrown your grappling-iron on a worthless 
 building. Do you know that the Marquis de Mon- 
 tauran is worth more than one hundred thousand 
 francs a year from lands which have not yet been 
 confiscated? And I read in the Primidi de l'Ille-et- 
 Vilaine a decree of the Consuls putting an end to con- 
 fiscation. Ha ! ha! you'll think the Gars a prettier 
 fellow than ever, won't you? Your eyes are shining 
 like two new louis d'or." 
 
 Mademoiselle de Verneuil's face was, indeed, keenly 
 excited when she heard that well-known voice so near 
 her. Since she had been standing there, erect, in the 
 midst as it were of a silver mine, the spring of her 
 mind, held down by these strange events, recovered 
 itself. She seemed to have formed some sinister reso- 
 lution and to perceive a means of carrying it out. 
 
 "There is no return from such contempt," she was 
 saying to herself; "and if he cannot love me, I will 
 kill him no other woman shall have him." 
 
 " No, abbe, no ! " cried the young chief, in a loud 
 voice which was hoard through the panel, " it must 
 be so." 
 
 "Monsieur le marquis," replied the Abbe Gudin, 
 haughtily; "you will scandalize all Brittany if you 
 give that ball at Saint James. It is preaching, not 
 dancing, which will rouse our villagers. Take guns, 
 not fiddles/'
 
 234 The Chouans. 
 
 " Abbe, you have sense enough to know that it is 
 not in a general assembly of our partisans that I can 
 learn to know these people, or judge of what I may be 
 able to undertake with them. A supper is better for 
 examining faces than all the spying in the world, of 
 which, by the bye, I have a horror; they can be made 
 to talk with glasses in their hand." 
 
 Marie quivered, as she listened, and conceived the 
 idea of going to the ball and there avenging herself. 
 
 " Do you take me for an idiot with your sermon 
 against dancing?'' continued Montauran. " Wouldn't 
 you yourself dance a reel if it would restore your 
 order under its new name of Fathers of the Faith? 
 Don't you know that Bretons come away from the mass 
 and go to dancing? Are you aware that Messieurs 
 H}"de de Xeuville and d'Andigne had a conference, five 
 days ago. with the First Consul, on the question of 
 restoring his Majesty Louis XVIII.? Ah, monsieur, 
 the princes are deceived as to the true state of France. 
 The devotions which uphold them are solely those of 
 rank. Abbe, if I have set my feet in blood, at least 
 I will not go into it to my middle without full knowledge 
 of what I do. I am devoted to the king, but not to four 
 hot-heads, not to a man crippled with debt like Kifoel, 
 not to ' chauffeurs,' not to " 
 
 " Say frankly, monsieur, not to abbe's who force con- 
 tributions on the highway to cany 011 the war," retorted 
 the Abbe" Gudin. 
 
 "Why should I not say it?" replied the marquis, 
 sharply; "and I'll say, further, that the great and 
 heroic days of La Vendee are over.'' 
 
 " Monsieur le marquis, we can perform miracles 
 without you."
 
 The Chouans. 235 
 
 "Yes, like that of Marie Lambrequin, whom I hear 
 you have brought to life," said the marquis, smiling. 
 "Come, come, let us have no rancor, abbe. I know 
 that 3'ou run all risks and would shoot a Blue as readily 
 as 3'ou say an oremus. God willing, I hope to make 
 you assist with a mitre on your head at the king's 
 coronation." 
 
 This last remark must have had some magic power, 
 for the click of a musket was heard as the abbe ex- 
 claimed, " I have fifty cartridges in 1113- pocket, mon- 
 sieur le marquis, and 1113' life is the king's/' 
 
 " He 's a debtor of mine," whispered the usurer to 
 Marie. " I don't mean the five or six hundred crowns 
 he has borrowed, but a debt of blood which I hope to 
 make him pay. He can never suffer as much evil as I 
 wish him, the damned Jesuit! He swore the death of 
 m3" brother, and raised the countiy against him. Win'? 
 Because the poor man was afraid of the new laws." 
 Then, after applying his ear to another part of his 
 hiding-place, he added, ' The3' are all decamping, those 
 brigands. I suppose the3' are going to do some other 
 miracle elsewhere. I only hope the3" won't bid me 
 good-b3 T as they did the last time, 1)3' setting fire to my 
 house." 
 
 After the lapse of about half an hour, during which 
 time the usurer and Mademoiselle de Verneuil looked 
 at each other as if the3' were studying a picture, the 
 coarse, gruff voice of Galope-Chopine was heard sa3~ing, 
 in a muffled tone: "There's no longer any danger, 
 Monsieur d'Orgemont. But this time, 3"ou must allow 
 that I have earned my thirty crowns." 
 
 " My dear," said the miser to Marie, " swear to 
 shut your eyes."
 
 236 The Chouans. 
 
 Mademoiselle de Verneuil placed one band over her 
 eyelids ; but for greater security d'Orgcmont blew out 
 the lamp, took his liberator by the hand, and helped her 
 to make seven or eight steps along a difficult passage. 
 At the end of some minutes he gently removed her 
 hand, and she found herself in the very room the Mar- 
 quis de Montauran had just quitted, and which was, in 
 fact, the miser's own bedroom. 
 
 kt My dear girl," said the old man, " 3*011 can safely 
 go now. Don't look about you that way. I dare say 
 you have no money with you. Here are ten crowns; 
 they are a little shaved, but they'll pass. When you leave 
 the garden you will see a path which leads straight to 
 the town, or. as they say now, the district. But the 
 Chouans will be at Fougeres. and it is to be presumed 
 that you can't get back there at once, You may want 
 some safe place to hide in. Remember what I say to 
 you, but don't make use of it unless in some great 
 emergency. You will see on the road which leads to 
 Nid-aux-Crocs through the Val de Gibarry. a farm-house 
 belonging to Cibot otherwise called Galope-Chopine. 
 Go in, and say to his wife : ' Good-day. Becaniere/ 
 and Barbette will hide you. If Galope-Chopine dis- 
 covers you he will either take you for the, ghost, if it is 
 dark, or ten crowns will master him if it is light. 
 Adieu, our account is squared. But if you choose," he 
 added, waving his hand about him, tk all this is yours.'' 
 
 Mademoiselle de Verneuil gave the strange old man 
 a look of thanks, and succeeded in extracting a sigh 
 from him, expressing a variety of emotions. 
 
 " You will of course return me my ten crowns ; and 
 please remark that I ask no interest. You can pa}- 
 them to my credit with Maitre Patrat, the notary at
 
 The Chouans. 237 
 
 Fougeres, who would draw our marriage contract if you 
 consented to be mine. Adieu." 
 
 "Adieu," she said, smiling and kissing her hand. 
 
 " If you ever want money," he called after her, " I'll 
 lend it to you at five per cent ; yes, only five did I 
 say five? why, she 's gone! That girl looks tome 
 like a good one; nevertheless, I'll change the secret 
 opening of my chimney." 
 
 Then he took a twelve-pound loaf and a ham, and re- 
 turned to his hiding place. 
 
 As Mademoiselle de Verneuil walked through the 
 country she seemed to breathe a new life. The fresh- 
 ness of the night revived her after the fiery experience 
 of the last few hours. She tried to follow the path 
 explained to her by d'Orgemont, but the darkness be- 
 came so dense after the moon had gone down that she 
 was forced to walk Imp-hazard, blindly. Presently the 
 fear of falling down some precipice seized her and saved 
 her life, for she stopped suddenly, fancTing the ground 
 would disappear before her if she made another step. 
 A cool breeze lifting her hair, the murmur of the river, 
 and her instinct all combined to warn her that she was 
 probably on the verge of the Saint-Sulpice rocks. She 
 slipped her arm round a tree and waited for the dawn 
 with keen anxiety, for she heard a noise of arms and 
 horses and human voices ; she was grateful to the dark- 
 ness which saved her from the Chouans, who were evi- 
 dently, as the miser had said, surrounding Fougeres. 
 
 Like fires lit at night as signals of liberty, a few 
 gleams, faintly crimsoned, began to show upon the 
 summits, while the bases of the mountains still retained 
 the bluish tints which contrasted with the rosy clouds
 
 238 The Ckouans. 
 
 that were floating in the valley. Soon a rub}- disk rose 
 slowly on the horizon and the skies greeted it ; the 
 varied landscape, the bell tower of Saint-Leonard, the 
 rocks, the meadows buried in shadow, all insensibly re- 
 appeared, and the trees on the summits were defined 
 against the skies in the rising glow. The sun freed 
 itself with a graceful spring from the ribbons of flame 
 and ochre and sapphire. Its vivid light took level lines 
 from hill to hill and flowed into the vales. The dusk 
 dispersed, day mastered Nature. A sharp breeze 
 crisped the air, the birds sang, life wakened every- 
 where. But the girl had hardly time to cast her eyes 
 over the whole of this wondrous landscape before, by 
 a phenomenon not infrequent in these cool regions, the 
 mists spread themselves in sheets, filled the valleys, 
 and rose to the tops of the mountains, burying the great 
 valley beneath a mantle of snow. Mademoiselle de 
 Verneuil fancied for a moment she saw a mer de glace, 
 like those of the Alps. Then the vaporous atmosphere 
 rolled like the waves of ocean, lifted impenetrable bil- 
 lows which softly swayed, undulated, and were violently 
 whirled, catching from the sun's rays a vivid rosy tint, 
 and showing here and there in their depths the trans- 
 parencies of a lake of molten silver, Suddenly the 
 north wind swept this phantasmagoric scene and scat- 
 tered the mists which laid a dew full of oxygen on the 
 meadows. 
 
 Mademoiselle de Verneuil was now able to distinguish 
 a dark mass of men on the rocks of Fougeres. Seven 
 or eight hundred Chouans were running like ants 
 through the suburb of Saiut-Sulpicc. The sleeping 
 town would certainly have been overpowered in spite of 
 its fortifications and its old grav towers, if Ilulot had
 
 The Chouans. 239 
 
 not been alert. A battery, concealed on a height at the 
 farther end of the basin formed by the ramparts, replied 
 to the first fire of the Chouans by taking them diago- 
 nally on the road to the castle. The bulls swept the 
 road. Then a company of Blues made a sortie from 
 the Saint-Sulpice gate, profited by the surprise of the 
 royalists to form in line upon the high-road, and poured 
 a murderous fire upon them. The Chouans made no 
 attempt to resist, seeing that the ramparts of the castle 
 were covered with soldiers, and that the guns of the 
 fortress sufficiently protected the Republican advance. 
 
 Meantime, however, other Chouans, masters of the 
 little valley of the Nancon, had swarmed up the rocks 
 and reached the Promenade, which was soon covered 
 with goatskins, giving it to Marie's eyes the appear- 
 ance of a thatched roof, brown with age. At the same 
 moment loud reports were heard from the part of the 
 town which overlooks the valley of Couesnon. Evi- 
 dently, Fougeres was attacked on all sides and com- 
 pletely surrounded. Flames rising on the western side 
 of the rock showed that the Chouans were setting fire 
 to the suburbs ; but these soon ceased, and a column of 
 black smoke which succeeded them showed that the fire 
 was extinguished. Brown and white clouds again hid 
 the scene from Mademoiselle de Vcrnenil, but they were 
 clouds of smoke from the fire and powder, which the 
 wind dispersed. The Republican commander, as soon 
 as he saw his fi v st orders admirably executed, changed 
 the direction of his battery so as to sweep, successively, 
 the valley of the Nancon, the Queen's Staircase, and 
 the base of the rock of Fougeres. Two guns posted 
 at the gate of Saint-Leonard scattered the ant-hill of 
 Chouans who had seized that position, and the national
 
 240 The Chouans. 
 
 guard of the town, rushing in haste to the square before 
 the Church, succeeded in dislodging the last enemy, 
 The fight lasted only half an hour, and cost the Blues 
 a hundred men. The Chouans, beaten on all sides, 
 retreated under orders from the Gars, whose bold 
 attempt failed (although he did not know this) in con- 
 sequence of the massacre at La Vivetiere, which had 
 brought Hulot secretly and in all haste to Fougeres. 
 The artillery had arrived only that evening, and the 
 news had not reached Montauran ; otherwise, he would 
 certainly have abandoned an enterprise which, if it 
 failed, could only have bad results. As soon as he 
 heard the guns the marquis knew it would be madness 
 to continue, out of mere pride, a surprise which had 
 missed fire. Therefore, not to lose men uselessly, he 
 sent at once to all points of the attack, ordering an im- 
 mediate retreat. The commandant, seeing his adver- 
 sary on the rocks of Saint-Sulpice surrounded by a 
 council of men, endeavored to pour a voile}* upon him ; 
 but the spot was cleverly selected, and the young leader 
 was out of danger in a moment. Hulot now changed 
 parts with his opponent and became the aggressor. At 
 the first sign of the Gars' intention, the company sta- 
 tioned under the walls of the castle were ordered to cut 
 off the Chouans' retreat by seizing the upper outlet of 
 the valley of the Xanron. 
 
 Notwithstanding her desire for revenge, Mademoiselle 
 do Yemeni 1's svm pal hies were with the men commanded 
 by her lover, and she turned hastily to see if the other 
 end of the valley were clear for them ; but the Blues, 
 conquerors no doubt on the opposite side of Fou- 
 geres, were returning from the valley of Couesnon and 
 taking possession of the Nid-aux -Crocs and that portion
 
 TJte Cliouans. 241 
 
 of the Saint-Sulpicc rocks which overhang the lower 
 end of the valley of the Nan^on. The Chouans, thus 
 hemmed in to the narrow fields of the gorge, seemed in 
 danger of perishing to the last man, so cleverly and 
 sagaciously were the commandant's measures taken. 
 But Ilulot's cannon were powerless at these two points ; 
 and here, the town of Fougeres being quite safe, began 
 one of those desperate struggles which denoted the 
 character of Chouan warfare. 
 
 Mademoiselle de Verneuil now comprehended the 
 presence of the masses of men she had seen as she left 
 the town, the meeting of the leaders at d'Orgemont's 
 house, and all the other events of the night, wondering 
 how she herself had escaped so many dangers. The 
 attack, prompted by desperation, interested her so 
 keenly that she stood motionless, watching the living 
 pictures as they presented themselves to her sight. 
 Presently the struggle at the foot of the mountain had 
 a deeper interest for her. Seeing the Blues almost 
 masters of the Chouans, the marquis and his friends 
 rushed into the valley of the Nancon to support their 
 men. The rocks were now covered with straggling 
 groups of furious combatants deciding the question of 
 life or death on a ground and with weapons that were 
 more favorable to the Goatskins. Slowly this moving 
 arena widened. The Chouans, recovering themselves, 
 gained the rocks, thanks to the shrubs and bushes 
 which grew here and there among them. For a moment 
 Mademoiselle de Verneuil felt alarmed as she saw, 
 rather late, her enemies swarming over the summit and 
 defending the dangerous paths by which alone she could 
 descend. Every issue on the mountain was occupied 
 by one or other of the two parties ; afraid of encoun- 
 
 10
 
 242 The Chouans. 
 
 tering them she left the tree behind which she had been 
 sheltering, and began to run in the direction of the farm 
 which d'Orgemont had mentioned to her. After run- 
 ning some time on the slope of Saint-Sulpice which over- 
 looks the valley of Couesnon she saw a cow-shed in the 
 distance, and thought it must belong to the house of 
 Galope-Chopine, who had doubtless left his wife at 
 home and alone during the fight. Mademoiselle de 
 Verneuil hoped to be able to pass a few hours in this 
 retreat until it was possible for her to return to Fou- 
 geres without danger. According to all appearance 
 Ilulot was to triumph. The Chouans were retreating 
 so rapidly that she heard firing all about her, and the 
 fear of being shot made her hasten to the cottage, the 
 chimney of which was her landmark. The path she 
 was following ended at a sort of shed covered with a 
 furze-roof, supported by four stout trees with the bark 
 still on them. A mud wall formed the back of this 
 shed, under which were a cider-mill, a flail to thresh 
 buckwheat, and several agricultural implements. She 
 stopped before one of the posts, unwilling to cross the 
 dirty bog which formed a sort of courtyard to the 
 house which, in her Parisian ignorance, she had taken 
 for a stable. 
 
 The cabin, protected from the north wind by an emi- 
 nence towering above the roof, which rested against it, 
 was not without a poetry of its own ; for the tender 
 shoots of elms, heather, and various rock-llowers 
 wreathed it with garlands. A rustic staircase, con- 
 structed between the shed and the house, enabled the 
 inhabitants to go to the top of the rock and breathe 
 a purer air. On the left, the eminence sloped abruptly 
 down, giving to view a series of fields, the liist of which
 
 The Chouans. 243 
 
 belonged no doubt to this farm. These fields were like 
 bowers, separated by banks which were planted with 
 trees. The road which led to them was barred by the 
 trunk of an old, half-rotten tree, a Breton method of 
 inclosure the name of which may furnish, further on, a 
 digression which will complete the characterization of 
 this region. Between the stairway cut in the schist 
 rock and the path closed by this old tree, in front of 
 the marsh and beneath the overhanging rock, several 
 granite blocks roughly hewn, and piled one upon the 
 other, formed the four corners of the cottage and held up 
 the planks, cobblestones, and pitch amalgam of which the 
 walls were made. The fact that one half of the roof 
 was covered with furze instead of thatch, and the other 
 with shingles or bits of board cut into the form of slates, 
 showed that the building was in two parts ; one half, 
 with a broken hurdle for a door, served as a stable, the 
 other half was the dwelling of the owner. Though this 
 hut owed to the neighborhood of the tow r n a few im- 
 provements which were wholl}' absent from such build- 
 ings that were five or six miles further off, it showed 
 plainly enough the instability of domestic life and 
 habits to which the wars and customs of feudality 
 had reduced the serf; even to this day many of the 
 peasants of those parts call a seignorial chateau, " The 
 Dwelling." 
 
 While examining the place, with an astonishment we 
 can readily conceive, Mademoiselle de Verneuil noticed 
 here and there in the filth of the courtyard a few bits 
 of granite so placed as to form stepping-stones to the 
 house. Hearing the sound of musketry that was evi- 
 dently coming nearer, she jumped from stone to stone, 
 as if crossing a rivulet, to ask shelter. The house was
 
 244 The Chouans. 
 
 closed by a door opening in two parts ; the lower one 
 of wood, heavy and massive, the upper one a shutter 
 which served as a window. In many of the smaller 
 towns of France the shops have the same t} - pe of door 
 though far more decorated, the lower half possessing a 
 call-bell. The door in question opened with a wooden 
 latch worthy of the golden age, and the upper part was 
 never closed except at night, for it was the only 
 opening through which daylight could enter the room. 
 There was, to he sure, a clumsy window, but the glass 
 was thick like the bottom of a bottle, and the lead 
 which held the panes in place took so much room that 
 the opening seemed intended to intercept the light 
 rather than admit it. As soon as Mademoiselle de 
 Verneuil had turned the creaking hinges of the lower 
 door she smelt an intolerable ammoniacal odor, and 
 saw that the beasts in the stable had kicked through 
 the inner partition which separated the stable from the 
 dwelling. The interior of the farmhouse, for such it 
 was, did not belie its exterior. 
 
 Mademoiselle de Verneuil was asking herself how it 
 was possible for human beings to live in such habitual 
 filth, when a ragged little bo\' about eight or nine 
 years old suddenly presented his fresh and rosy face, 
 with a pair of fat cheeks, lively eyes, ivory teeth, and 
 a mass of fair hair, which fell in curls upon his half- 
 naked shoulders. His limbs were vigorous, and his at- 
 titude had the charm of that amazement and naive 
 curiosity which widens a child's eyes. The little fellow 
 was a picture of beauty. 
 
 "Where is your mother?" said Marie, in a gentle 
 voice, stooping to kiss him between the eyes. 
 
 After receiving her kiss the child slipped away like
 
 The Chouans. 245 
 
 an eel, and disappeared behind a muck-heap which was 
 piled at the top of a mound between the path and the 
 house ; for, like many Breton fanners who have a sys- 
 tem of agriculture that is all their own, Galope-Chopine 
 put his manure in an elevated spot, so that by the time 
 it was wanted for use the rains had deprived it of all its 
 virtue. Alone for a few minutes, Marie had time to 
 make an inventory. The room in which she waited for 
 Barbette was the whole house. The most obvious and 
 sumptuous object was a vast fireplace with a mantle- 
 shelf of blue granite. The et3'inology of that word was 
 shown by a strip of green serge, edged with a pale-green 
 ribbon, cut in scallops, which covered and overhung the 
 whole shelf, on which stood a colored plaster cast of the 
 Holy Virgin. On the pedestal of the statuette were two 
 lines of a religious poem very popular in Brittany : 
 
 " I am the mother of God, 
 Protectress of the sod." 
 
 Behind the Virgin a hideous image, daubed with red 
 and blue under pretence of painting, represented Saint- 
 Labre. A green serge bed of the shape called " tomb," 
 a clumsy cradle, a spinning-wheel, common chairs, and 
 a carved chest on which lay utensils, were about the 
 whole of Galope-Chopine's domestic possessions. In 
 front of the window stood a chestnut table flanked by 
 two benches of the same wood, to which the sombre 
 light coming through the thick panes gave the tone of 
 mahogany. An immense cask of cider, under the bung 
 of which Mademoiselle de Verneuil noticed a pool of 
 yellow mud, which had decomposed the flooring, al- 
 though it was made of scraps of granite conglomerated 
 in clay, proved that the master of the house had a right
 
 246 The Chouans. 
 
 to his Chouan name, and that the pints galloped down 
 either his own throat or that of his friends. Two enor- 
 mous jugs full of cider stood on the table. Marie's at- 
 tention, caught at first by the innumerable spider's-webs 
 which hung from the roof, was fixing itself on these 
 pitchers when the noise of fighting, growing more and 
 more distinct, impelled her to find a hiding-place, with- 
 out waiting for the woman of the house, who, however, 
 appeared at that moment. 
 
 'Good-morning, Becaniere," said Marie, restraining 
 a smile at the appearance of a person who bore some 
 resemblance to the heads which architects attach to 
 window-casings. 
 
 "Ha! you come from d'Orgemont?" answered 
 Barbette, in a tone that was far from cordial. 
 
 " Yes, where can you hide me? for the Chouans are 
 close by " 
 
 " There," replied Barbette, as much amazed at the 
 beauty as by the strange apparel of a being she could 
 hardly believe to be of her own sex, "there, in the 
 priest's hiding-place." 
 
 She took her to the head of the bed, and was putting 
 her behind it, when the}" were both startled by the 
 noise of a man springing into the courtyard. Barbette 
 had scarcely time to drop the curtain of the bed and 
 fold it about the girl before she was face to face with 
 a fugitive Chouan. 
 
 ' Where can I hide, old woman? I am the Comte 
 de Ban van," said the new-comer. 
 
 Mademoiselle de Verneuil quivered as she recognized 
 the voice of the belated guest, whose words, still a 
 secret to her, brought about the catastrophe of La 
 V r ivetiere.
 
 The Chouans. 247 
 
 "Alas! monseigneur, don't you see, I have no 
 place? What I'd better do is to keep outside and 
 watch that no one gets in. If the Blues come, I '11 let 
 you know. If I stay here, and they iind me with }*ou, 
 they '11 burn my house down." 
 
 Barbette left the hut, feeling herself incapable of 
 settling the interests of two enemies who, in virtue of 
 the double role her husband was playing, had an equal 
 right to her hiding-place. 
 
 " I 've only two shots left," said the count, in 
 despair. "It will be very unlucky if those fellows 
 turn back now and take a fancy to look under this 
 bed." 
 
 He placed his gun gently against the headboard 
 behind which Marie was standing among the folds of 
 the green serge, and stooped to see if there was room 
 for him under the bed. lie would infallibly have seen 
 her feet, but she, rendered desperate by her danger, 
 seized his gun, jumped quickly into the room, and 
 threatened him. The count broke into a peal of laugh- 
 ter when he caught sight of her, for, in order to hide 
 herself, Marie had taken off her broad-brimmed Chouan 
 hat, and her hair was escaping, in heav\* curls, from 
 the lace scarf which she had worn on leaving home. 
 
 " Don't laugh, monsieur le comte ; you are my pris- 
 oner. If you make the least movement, you shall know 
 what an offended woman is capable of doing/" 
 
 As the count and Marie stood looking at each other 
 with differing emotions, confused voices were heard 
 without among the rocks, calling out, "Save the 
 Gars! spread out, spread out, save the Gars!" 
 
 Barbette's voice, calling to her boy. was heard above 
 the tumult with very different sensations by the two
 
 248 The Chouans. 
 
 enemies, to whom Barbette was really speaking instead 
 of to her son. 
 
 ''Don't }'ou see the Blues?" she cried, sharpby. 
 "Come here, you little scamp, or I shall be after 
 you. Do you want to be shot? Come, hide, quick ! " 
 
 While these things took place rapidly a Blue jumped 
 into the marshy courtyard. 
 
 " Beau-Pied ! " exclaimed Mademoiselle de Verneuil. 
 
 Beau-Pied, hearing her voice, rushed into the cottage, 
 and aimed at the count. 
 
 " Aristocrat ! " he cried, " don't stir, or I '11 demolish 
 you in a wnk. like the Bastille." 
 
 "Monsieur Beau-Pied," said Mademoiselle de Ver- 
 neuil, in a persuasive voice, "you will be answerable 
 to me for this prisoner. Do as you like with him 
 now, but you must return him to me safe and sound 
 at Fougeres." 
 
 " Enough, madame ! " 
 
 " Is the road to Fougeres clear?" 
 
 "Yes, it's safe enough unless the Chouans come 
 to life." 
 
 Mademoiselle de Verneuil picked up the count's gun 
 gayly, and smiled satirical!}' as she said to her prisoner, 
 " Adieu, monsieur le comte. an revoir ! " 
 
 Then she darted down the path, having replaced the 
 broad hat upon her head. 
 
 "I have learned too late," said the count, "not to 
 joke about the virtue of a woman who has none." 
 
 "Aristocrat!" cried Beau-Pied, sternly, ''if you 
 don't want me to send you to your (i-iJ<-v<int paradise, 
 you will not say a word against that beautiful lady." 
 
 Mademoiselle de Verneuil returned to Fougeres by 
 the paths which connects the rocks of Saint-Sulpice
 
 The Chouans. 249 
 
 with the Nid-aux-Croes. When she reached the latter 
 height and hud threaded the winding way eut in its 
 rough granite, she stopped to admire the pretty valley 
 of the Nangon, lately so turbulent and now so tranquil. 
 Seen from that point, the vale was like a street of ver- 
 dure. Mademoiselle de Verneuil re-entered the town by 
 the Porte Saint-Leonard. The inhabitants, still uneasy 
 about the fighting, which, judging by the distant firing, 
 was still going on, were waiting the return of the 
 National Guard, to judge of their losses. Seeing the 
 girl in her strange costume, her hair dishevelled, a gun 
 in her hand, her shawl and gown whitened against the 
 walls, soiled with mud and wet with dew, the curiosity of 
 the people was keenly excited, all the more because 
 the power, beauty, and singularity of this young Paris- 
 ian had been the subject of much discussion. 
 
 Francine, full of dreadful fears, had waited for her 
 mistress throughout the night, and when she saw her 
 she began to speak ; but Marie, with a kindly gesture, 
 silenced her. 
 
 "I am not dead, my child," she said. "Ah!" she 
 added, after a pause, " I wanted emotions when I left 
 Paris, and I have had them ! " 
 
 Francine asked if she should get her some food, 
 observing that she must be in great need of it. 
 
 "No, no; a bath, a bath!" cried Mademoiselle de 
 Verneuil. " I must dress at once." 
 
 Francine was not a little surprised when her mistress 
 required her to unpack the most elegant of the dresses 
 she had brought with her. Having bathed and break- 
 fasted, Marie made her toilet with all the minute care 
 which a woman gives to that important act when she 
 expects to meet the eyes of her lover in a ball-room.
 
 250 The Chouans. 
 
 Francine could not explain to herself the mocking 
 gayety of her mistress. It was not the joy of love, a 
 woman never mistakes that ; it was rather an expres- 
 sion of concentrated maliciousness, which to Francine's 
 miutl boded evil. Marie herself drew the curtains of 
 the window from which the glorious panorama could be 
 seen, then she moved the sofa to the chimney corner, 
 turning it so that the light would fall becomingly on her 
 face ; then she told Francine to fetch flowers, that the 
 room might have a festive air ; and when they came 
 she herself directed their arrangement in a picturesque 
 manner. Giving a last glance of satisfaction at these 
 various preparations she sent Francine to the command- 
 ant with a request that he would bring her prisoner to 
 her ; then she lay down luxuriously on a sofa, partly to 
 rest, and partly to throw herself into an attitude of grace- 
 ful weakness, the power of which is irresistible in certain 
 women. A soft languor, the seductive pose of her feet 
 just seen below the draper}" of her gown, the plastic 
 ease of her body, the curving of the throat, all, even 
 the droop of her slender fingers as the}' hung from the 
 pillow like the buds of a bunch of jasmine, combined 
 with her eyes to produce seduction. She burned certain 
 perfumes to fill the air with those subtle emanations 
 which affect men's fibres powerfully, and often prepare 
 the way for conquests which women seek to make with- 
 out seeming to desire them. Presently the heavy step 
 of the old soldier resounded in the adjoining room. 
 
 "Well, commandant, where is my captive?'' she 
 said. 
 
 " I have just ordered a picket of twelve men to shoot 
 him, being taken with arms in his hand." 
 
 "Why have you disposed of my prisoner?" she
 
 The Chouans. 251 
 
 asked. "Listen to me, commandant; surely, if I can 
 trust your face, the death of a man after a fight is no 
 particular satisfaction to you. Well, then, give my 
 Chouan a reprieve, for which I will be responsible, and 
 let me see him. I assure you that aristocrat has become 
 essential to me, and he can be made to further the suc- 
 cess of our plans. Besides, to shoot a mere amateur in 
 Chouannerie would be as absurd as to fire on a balloon 
 when a pinprick would disinflate it. For heaven's sake 
 leave cruelty to the aristocracy. Republicans ought to 
 be generous. Would n't you and yours have forgiven the 
 victims of Quiberon? Come, send your twelve men to 
 patrol the town, and dine with me and bring the pris- 
 oner. There is only an hour of daylight left, and don't 
 3-011 see,'' she added smiling, " that if you are too late, 
 my toilet will have lost its effect? " 
 
 ''But, mademoiselle," said the commandant, amazed. 
 
 "Well, what? But I know what you mean. Don't 
 be anxious ; the count shall not escape. Sooner or 
 later that big butterfly will burn himself in your fire." 
 
 The commandant shrugged his shoulders slightly, 
 with the air of a man who is forced to obey, whether he 
 will or no, the commands of a pretty woman ; and he 
 returned in about half an hour, followed by the Comte 
 de Bauvan. 
 
 Mademoiselle de Yerneuil feigned surprise and seemed 
 confused that the count should see her in such a negli- 
 gent attitude ; then, after reading in his eyes that her 
 first effect was produced, she rose and busied herself 
 about her guests with well-bred courtesy. There was 
 nothing studied or forced in her motions, smiles, be- 
 havior, or voice, nothing that betrayed premeditation 
 or purpose. All was harmonious ; no part was over-
 
 252 The Chouans. 
 
 acted ; an observer could not have supposed that she 
 affected the manners of a society in which she had 
 not lived. When the Ro3'alist and the Republican were 
 seated she looked sternly at the count. lie, on his part, 
 knew women sufficiently well to feel certain that the 
 offence he had committed against this woman was equiv- 
 alent to a sentence of death. But in spite of this con- 
 viction, and without seeming either gay or gloomy, he 
 had the air of a man who did not take such serious 
 results into consideration ; in fact, he really thought it 
 ridiculous to fear death in presence of a pretty woman. 
 Marie's stern manner roused ideas in his mind. 
 
 " Who knows," thought he, l ' whether a count's 
 coronet would n't please her as well as that of her lost 
 marquis? Montauran is as lean as a nail, while I 
 and he looked himself over with an air of satisfaction. 
 " At any rate I should save my head." 
 
 These diplomatic reflections were wasted. The passion 
 the count proposed to feign for Mademoiselle de Ver- 
 neuil became a violent caprice, which the dangerous 
 creature did her best to heighten . 
 
 "Monsieur le comte,'' she said, "you are my pris- 
 oner, and I have the right to dispose of you. Your 
 execution cannot take place without irry consent, and 
 I have too much curiosity to let them shoot you at 
 present.'' 
 
 " And suppose I am obstinate enough to keep 
 silence?" he replied gayly. 
 
 "With an honest woman, perhaps, but with a woman 
 of the town, no, no, monsieur le comte, impossible ! " 
 These words, full of bitter sarcasm, were hissed, as Sully 
 says, in speaking of the Duchesse de Beaufort, from so 
 sharp a beak that the count, amazed, merely looked at
 
 The Chouans. 253 
 
 his antagonist. " But," she continued, with a scornful 
 glance, "not to contradict von, if I am a creature of 
 that kind I will act like one. Here is your gun," and 
 she offered him his weapon with a mocking air. 
 
 " On the honor of a gentleman, mademoiselle " 
 
 " Ah ! " she said, interrupting him, " I have had 
 enough of the honor of gentlemen. It was on the faith 
 of that that I went to La Vivetiere. Your leader had 
 sworn to me that I and my escort should be safe there. 1 ' 
 
 "What an infamy!" cried Hulot, contracting his 
 brows. 
 
 " The fault lies with monsieur le comte," said Marie, 
 addressing Hulot. " I have no doubt the Gars meant 
 to keep his word, but this gentleman told some calumny 
 about me which confirmed those that Charette's mistress 
 had alread\- invented " 
 
 " Mademoiselle," said the count, much troubled, 
 " with my head under the axe I would swear that I 
 said nothing but the truth." 
 
 " In saying what?'' 
 
 " That you were the " 
 
 " Say the word, mistress of " 
 
 "The Marquis de Lenoncourt, the present duke, a 
 friend of mine," replied the count. 
 
 " Now I can let you go to execution," she said, 
 without seeming at all agitated by the outspoken reply 
 of the count, who was amazed at the real or pretended 
 indifference with which she heard his statement. 
 "However," she added, laughing, "you have not 
 wronged me more than that friend of whom you sup- 
 pose me to have been the Fie ! monsieur le 
 comte ; surely you used to visit my father, the DUG 
 de Verneuil? Yes? well then "
 
 254 The Chouans. 
 
 Evidently considering ITulot one too many for the 
 confidence she was about to make, Mademoiselle de 
 Verneuil motioned the count to her side, and said a few 
 words in his ear. Monsieur de Bauvan gave a low 
 ejaculation of surprise and looked with bewilderment 
 at Marie, who completed the effect of her words by 
 leaning against the chimney in the artless and innocent 
 attitude of a child. 
 
 "Mademoiselle," cried the count, "I entreat your 
 forgiveness, unworthy as I am of it." 
 
 'I have nothing to forgive," she replied. "You 
 have no more ground for repentance than you had for 
 the insolent supposition you proclaimed at La Vivetiere. 
 But this is a matter beyond your comprehension. Only, 
 remember this, monsieur le comte. the daughter of the 
 Due de Verneuil has too generous a spirit not to take a 
 lively interest in 3'our fate." 
 
 "Even after I have insulted you?" said the count, 
 with a sort of regret. 
 
 " Some are placed so high that insult cannot touch 
 them. Monsieur le comte, I am one of them." 
 
 As she said the words, the girl assumed an air of 
 pride and nobility which impressed the prisoner and 
 made the whole of this strange intrigue much less 
 clear to Ilulot than the old soldier had thought it. 
 He twirled his moustache and looked uneasily at 
 Mademoiselle de Verneuil. who made him a sign, as 
 if to say she was still carrying out her plan. 
 
 " Xow," continued Marie, after a pause, "let us 
 dismiss these matters. Francine, my dear, bring 
 lights." 
 
 She adroitly led the conversation to the times which 
 had now, within a t'e\v short years, become the " anrk'ii
 
 The Chouans. 255 
 
 regime." She brought back that period to the count's 
 mind by the liveliness of her remarks and sketches, 
 and gave him so many opportunities to display his wit, 
 bv cleverly throwing repartees in his way, that he ended 
 by thinking he had never been so charming ; and that 
 idea having rejuvenated him, he endeavored to inspire 
 this seductive young woman with his own good opin- 
 ion of himself. The malicious creature practised, in re- 
 turn, every art of her coquetry upon him, all the more 
 adroitly because it was mere play to her. Sometimes 
 she let him think he was making rapid progress, and 
 then, as if surprised at the sentiment she was feeling, 
 she showed a sudden coolness which charmed him, and 
 served to increase imperceptibly his impromptu passion. 
 She was like a fisherman who lifts his line from time 
 to time to see if the fish is biting. The poor count 
 allowed himself to be deceived by the innocent air with 
 which she accepted two or three neatly turned compli- 
 ments. Emigration, Brittany, the Republic, and the 
 Chouans were far indeed from his thoughts. Ilulot sat 
 erect and silent as the god Thermos. His want of 
 education made him quite incapable of taking part in a 
 conversation of this kind ; he supposed that the talking 
 pair were very witty, but his efforts at comprehension 
 were limited to discovering whether they were plotting 
 against the Republic in covert language. 
 
 " Montauran," the count was saying, "has birth and 
 breeding, he is a charming fellow, but he does n't 
 understand gallantry. lie is too young to have seen 
 Versailles. His education is deficient. Instead of diplo- 
 matically defaming, he strikes a blow. He may be 
 able to love violently, but he will never have that fine 
 flower of breeding in his gallantrv which distinguished
 
 256 The Chouans. 
 
 Lauzan, Adhemar, Coign}', and so many others ! lie 
 has n't the winning art of saying those pretty nothings 
 to women which, after all, they like better than bursts 
 of passion, which soon weary them. Yes, though he 
 has undoubtedly had many love-affairs, he has neither 
 the grace nor the ease that should belong to them." 
 
 " I have noticed that myself," said Marie. 
 
 " Ah ! " thought the count, " there 's an inflection in 
 her voice, and a look in her eye which shows me plainly 
 I shall soon be on terms with her ; and faith ! to get 
 her, I "11 believe all she wants me to." 
 
 He offered her his hand, for dinner was now an- 
 nounced. Mademoiselle de Verneuil did the honors 
 with a politeness and tact which could only have been 
 acquired by the life and training of a court. 
 
 "Leave us," she whispered to Ilulot as they left the 
 table. " You will only frighten him ; whereas, if I am 
 alone with him I shall soon find out all I want to know ; 
 he has reached the point where a man tells me every- 
 thing he thinks, and sees through my eyes only.'' 
 
 "But afterwards?" said Ilulot, evidently intending 
 to claim the prisoner. 
 
 "'Afterwards, he is to be free free as air," she 
 replied. 
 
 '* But he was taken with arms in his hand." 
 
 " No,'' she said, making one of those sophistical jokes 
 with which women parry unanswerable arguments, " I 
 had disarmed him. Count,'' she said, turning back to 
 him as Ilulot departed. "'I have just obtained your 
 liberty, but nothing for nothing," she added, laugh- 
 ing, with her head on one side as if to interrogate him. 
 
 "Ask all. even my name and my honor," he cried, 
 intoxicated. ' 1 lay their- at your feet."
 
 The Choitans. 257 
 
 He advanced to seize her hand, trying to make her 
 take his passion for gratitude ; but Mademoiselle de 
 Vernenil was not a woman to be thus misled. So, smil- 
 ing in a way to give some hope to this new lover, she 
 drew back a few steps and said: "You might make 
 me regret 1113" confidence." 
 
 " The imagination of a }'oung girl is more rapid than 
 that of a woman," he answered, laughing. 
 
 " A 3'oung girl has more to lose than a woman." 
 
 "True; those who carry a treasure ought to be 
 distrustful." 
 
 " Let us quit such conventional language," she said, 
 " and talk seriousl}-. You are to give a ball at Saint- 
 James. I hear that your headquarters, arsenals, and 
 base of supplies are there. When is the ball to be ? " 
 
 "To-morrow evening." 
 
 " You will not be surprised if a slandered woman 
 desires, with a woman's obstinacy, to obtain a public 
 reparation for the insults offered to her, in presence 
 of those who witnessed them. I shall go to your ball. 
 I ask you to give me your protection from the moment 
 I enter the room until I leave it. I ask nothing more 
 than a promise," she added, as he laid his hand on his 
 heart. " I abhor oaths ; the}- are too like precautions. 
 Tell me only that you engage to protect my person 
 from all dangers, criminal or shameful. Promise to 
 repair the wrong you did me, by openly acknowledging 
 that I am the daughter of the Due de Verneuil ; but say 
 nothing of the trials I have borne in being illegitimate, 
 this will pay your debt to me. Ha ! two hours' at- 
 tendance on a woman in a ball-room is not so dear a 
 ransom for your life, is it? You are not worth a ducat 
 more." Her smile took the insult from her words. 
 
 17
 
 258 The Chouans. 
 
 4 ' What do you ask for the gun?" said the count, 
 laughing. 
 
 " Oh ! more than I do for you." 
 
 "What is it?" 
 
 " Secrecy. Believe me, my dear count, a woman is 
 never fathomed except by a woman. I am certain that 
 if you say one word of this, I shall be murdered on rny 
 way to that ball. Yesterday I had warning enough. 
 Yes, that woman is quick to act. Ah ! I implore 
 you," she said, " contrive that no harm shall come to 
 me at the ball." 
 
 " You will be there under my protection," said the 
 count, proudly. ' But," he added, with a doubtful air, 
 ' are 3*011 coming for the sake of Montauran? " 
 
 "You wish to know more than I know myself." she 
 answered, laughing. ''Now go," she added, after a 
 pause. " I will take you to the gate of the town myself, 
 for this seems to me a cannibal warfare." 
 
 " Then you do feel some interest in me? " exclaimed 
 the count. "Ah! mademoiselle, permit me to hope 
 that you will not be insensible to my friendship for 
 that sentiment must content me, must it not?" he 
 added with a conceited air. 
 
 "Ah! diviner!" she said, putting on the gay ex- 
 pression a woman assumes when she makes an avowal 
 which compromises neither her dignity nor her secret 
 sentiments. 
 
 Then, having slipped on a pelisse, she accompanied 
 him as far as the Xid-aux-Crocs. When they reached 
 the end of the path she said, " Monsieur, be absolutely 
 silent on all this ; even to the marquis ; " and she laid 
 her finger on both lips. 
 
 The count, emboldened by so much kindness, took
 
 The Chouans. 259 
 
 her hand ; she let him do so as though it were a great 
 favor, and he kissed it tenderly. 
 
 'Oh! mademoiselle," he cried, on knowing himself 
 beyond all danger, "rely on me for life, for death. 
 Though I owe you a gratitude equal to that I owe my 
 mother, it will be very difficult to restrain my feelings 
 to mere respect." 
 
 He sprang into the narrow pathway. After watch- 
 ing him till he reached the rocks of Saint-Sulpice, Marie 
 nodded her head in sign of satisfaction, saying to her- 
 self in a low voice : " That fat fellow has given me 
 more than his life for his life ! I can make him my 
 creature at a very little cost ! Creature or creator, 
 that 's all the difference there is between one man and 
 another " 
 
 She did not finish her thought, but with a look of des- 
 pair she turned and re-entered the Porte Saint-Leonard, 
 where Ilulot and Corentin were awaiting her. 
 
 "Two more days," she cried, "and then " She 
 stopped, observing that they were not alone "he 
 shall fall under your guns," she whispered to Hulot. 
 
 The commandant recoiled a step and looked with a 
 jeering contempt, impossible to render, at the woman 
 whose features and expression gave no sign whatever 
 of relenting. There is one thing remarkable about 
 women : they never reason about their blameworthy 
 actions, feeling carries them off their feet; even in 
 their dissimulation there is an element of sincerity ; and 
 in women alone crime may exist without baseness, for 
 it often happens that they do not know how it came 
 about that they committed it. 
 
 " I am going to Saint-James, to a ball the Chouans 
 give tomorrow night, and "
 
 260 The Chouans. 
 
 " But," said Corentin, interrupting her, " that is 
 fifteen miles distant ; had I not better accompany 
 you ? " 
 
 "You think a great deal too much of something I 
 never think of at all," she replied, " and that is yourself." 
 
 Marie's contempt for Corentin was extremely pleas- 
 ing to Hulot, who made his well-known grimace as 
 she turned awa}' in the direction of her own house. 
 Corentin followed her witli his eyes, letting his face 
 express a consciousness of the fatal power he knew 
 he could exercise over the charming creature, by work- 
 ing upon the passions which sooner or later, he believed, 
 would give her to him. 
 
 As soon as Mademoiselle de Verneuil reached home 
 she began to deliberate on her ball-dress. Francine, 
 accustomed to obey without understanding her mistress's 
 motives, opened the trunks, and suggested a Greek 
 costume. The Republican fashions of those days were 
 all Greek in style. Marie chose one which could be 
 put in a box that was easy to carry. 
 
 '' Francine. m}' dear. I am going on an excursion into 
 the country ; do you want to go with me, or will 3*011 
 stay behind? " 
 
 ' Sta}* behind!" exclaimed Francine; "then who 
 would dress you ? " 
 
 - Where have you put that glove I gave you this 
 morning?" 
 
 " Here it is." 
 
 " Sow this green ribbon to it, and, above all, take 
 plenty of money." Then noticing that Francine was 
 taking out a number of the new Republican coins, she 
 cried out, "Not those; they would get us murdered- 
 Send Jthvmie to Corentin no, stay, the wretch would
 
 The Chouans. 261 
 
 follow me send to the commandant; ask him from 
 me for some six-franc crowns." 
 
 With the feminine sagacity which takes in the small- 
 est detail, she thought of everything, While Francine 
 was completing the arrangements for this extraordinary 
 trip, Marie practised the art of imitating an owl, and 
 so far succeeded in rivalling Marehe-u-Terre that the 
 illusion was a good one. At midnight she left Fou- 
 geres by the gate of Saint-Leonard, took the little path 
 to Nid-aux-Crocs, and started, followed by Francine, to 
 cros's the Val de Gibarry with a firm step, under the 
 impulse of that strong will which gives to the body and 
 its bearing such an expression of force. To leave a 
 ball-room with sufficient care to avoid a cold is an im- 
 portant affair to the health of a woman ; but let her 
 have a passion in her heart, and her body becomes ada- 
 mant. Such an enterprise as Marie had now under- 
 taken would have floated in a bold man's mind for a 
 long time ; but Mademoiselle de Verneuil had no sooner 
 thought of it than its dangers became to her attractions. 
 
 " You are starting without asking God to bless 
 you," said Francine, turning to look at the tower of 
 Saint-Leonard. 
 
 The pious Breton stopped, clasped her hands, and 
 said an " Ave " to Saint Anne of Auray, imploring her 
 to bless their expedition ; during which time her mis- 
 tress waited pensively, looking first at the artless atti- 
 tude of her maid who was praying fervently, and then 
 at the effects of the vaporous moonlight as it glided 
 among the traceries of the church building, giving to 
 the granite all the delicacy of filagree. The pair soon 
 reached the hut of Galope-Chopine. Light as their 
 steps were they roused one of those huge watch-dogs
 
 262 The Chouana. 
 
 on whose fidelity the Bretons rely, putting no fastening 
 to their doors but a simple latch. The dog ran to the 
 strangers, and his bark became so threatening that they 
 were forced to retreat a few steps and call for help. 
 But no one came. Mademoiselle de Verneuil then 
 gave the owl's cry, and instantly the rust\" hinges of 
 the door made a creaking sound, and Galope-Chopine, 
 who had risen hastily, put out his head. 
 
 " I wish to go to Saint-James," said Marie, showing 
 the Gars' glove. " Monsieur le Comte de Bauvan told me 
 that you would take me there and protect me on the way. 
 Therefore be good enough to get us two riding donkeys, 
 and make yourself ready to go with us. Time is pre- 
 cious, for if we do not get to Saint-James before to- 
 morrow night I can neither see the ball nor the Gars." 
 
 Galope-Chopine, completely bewildered, took the 
 glove and turned it over and over, after lighting a 
 pitch candle about a finger thick and the color of gin- 
 gerbread. This article of consumption, imported into 
 Brittany from the North, was only one more proof to 
 the eyes in this strange countr}' of the utter ignorance 
 of all commercial principles, even the commonest. 
 After seeing the green ribbon, staring at Mademoiselle 
 de Verneuil, scratching his ear, and drinking a beaker 
 of cider (having first offered a glass to the beautiful 
 lady), Galope-Chopine left her seated before the table 
 and went to fetch the required donkeys. 
 
 The violet gleam cast by the pitch candle was not 
 powerful enough to counteract the fitful moonlight, 
 which touched the dark floor and furniture of the 
 smoke-blackened cottage with luminous points. The 
 little boy had lifted his pretty head inquisitively, and 
 above it two cows were poking their rosy muzzles and
 
 The Uhouans. 203 
 
 brilliant eyes through the holes in the stable wall. The 
 big dog, whose countenance was by no means the least 
 intelligent of the family, seemed to be examining the 
 strangers with as much curiosity as the little bo}". A 
 painter would have stopped to admire the night effects 
 of this scene, but Marie, not wishing to enter into con- 
 versation with Barbette, who sat up in bed and began 
 to show signs of amazement at recognizing her, left the 
 hovel to escape its fetid air and the questions of its mis- 
 tress. She ran quickly up the stone staircase behind 
 the cottage, admiring the vast details of the landscape, 
 the aspect of which underwent as many changes as 
 spectators made steps either upward to the summits or 
 downward to the valleys. The moonlight was now en- 
 veloping like a luminous mist the valle}* of Couesnon. 
 Certainly a woman whose heart was burdened with a 
 despised love would be sensitive to the melancholy 
 which that soft brilliancy inspires in the soul, by the 
 weird appearances it gives to objects and the colors 
 with which it tints the streams. 
 
 The silence was presently broken by the braying of a 
 donkey. Marie went quickly back to the hut, and the 
 party started. Galope-Chopine, armed with a double- 
 barrelled gun, wore a long goatskin, which gave him 
 something the look of Robinson Crusoe. His blotched 
 face, seamed with wrinkles, was scarcely visible under 
 the broad-brimmed hat winch the Breton peasants still 
 retain as a tradition of the olden time ; proud to have 
 won, after their servitude, the right to wear the former 
 ornament of seignorial heads. This nocturnal caravan, 
 protected by a guide whose clothing, attitudes, and 
 person had something patriarchal about them, bore no 
 little resemblance to the Flight into Egypt as we see it
 
 264 The Cliouans. 
 
 represented by the sombre brush of "Rembrandt. Ga- 
 lope-Chopine carefully avoided the main road and guided 
 the two women through the labyrinth of by-ways which 
 intersect Brittany. 
 
 Mademoiselle de Verneuil then understood the Chouan 
 warfare. In threading these complicated paths, she 
 could better appreciate the condition of a country which 
 when she saw it from an elevation had seemed to her 
 so charming, but into which it was necessary to pene- 
 trate before the dangers and inextricable difficulties of 
 it could be understood. Round each field, and from 
 time immemorial, the peasants have piled mud walls, 
 about six feet high, and prismatic in shape ; on the top 
 of which grow chestnuts, oaks and beeches. The walls 
 thus planted are called hedges (Norman hedges) and 
 the long branches of the trees sweeping over the path- 
 ways arch them. Sunken between these walls (made of 
 a clay soil) the paths are like the covered ways of a for- 
 tification, and where the granite rock, which in these 
 regions comes to the surface; of the ground, does not 
 make a sort of rugged natural pavement, they become 
 so impracticable that the smallest vehicles can only be 
 drawn over them by two pairs of oxen or Breton horses, 
 which are small but usually vigorous. These by-ways 
 are so swampy that foot-passengers have gradually by 
 long usage made other paths beside them on the hedge- 
 banks which are called rotes;" and these begin and 
 end with each division into fields. In order to cross 
 from one field to another it is necessary to climb the 
 clay banks by means of steps which are often very 
 slippery after a rain. 
 
 Travellers have many other obstacles to encounter in 
 these intricate paths. Thus surrounded, each field is
 
 The Chouans. 2tJ5 
 
 closed by what is called in the West an echalier. That 
 is a trunk or stout brunch of a tree, one end of 
 which, being pierced, is fitted to an upright post which 
 serves as a pivot on which it turns. One end of 
 the echalier projects far enough beyond the pivot to 
 hold a weight, and this singular rustic gate, the post 
 of which rests in a hole made in the bunk, is so 
 easy to work that a child can handle it. Sometimes 
 the peasants economize the stone which forms the 
 weight by lengthening the trunk or branch beyond the 
 pivot. This method of enclosure varies with the genius 
 of each proprietor. Sometimes it consists of a single 
 trunk or branch, both ends of which are imbedded in 
 the bank. In other places it looks like a gate, and is 
 made of several slim branches placed at regular dis- 
 tances like the steps of a ladder lying horizontally. 
 The form turns, like the echalier, on a pivot. These 
 ' hedges " and echalier -s give the region the appearance 
 of a huge chess-board, each field forming a square, 
 perfectly isolated from the rest, closed like a fortress 
 and protected by ramparts. The gate, which is very 
 easy to defend, is a dangerous spot for assailants. The 
 Breton peasant thinks he improves his fallow land by 
 encouraging the growth of gorse, a shrub so well treated 
 in these regions that it soon attains the height of a man. 
 This delusion, worthy of a population which puts its 
 manure on the highest spot in the courtyard, has cov- 
 ered the soil to a proportion of one fourth with masses 
 of gorse, in the midst of which a thousand men might 
 ambush. Also there is scarcely a field without a num- 
 ber of old apple-trees, the fruit being used for cider, 
 which kill the vegetation wherever their branches cover 
 the ground. Now, if the reader will reflect on the small
 
 The Chouans. 
 
 extent of open ground within these hedges and large 
 trees whose hungry roots impoverish the soil, he will 
 have an idea of the cultivation and general character 
 of the region through which Mademoiselle de Verneuil 
 was now passing. 
 
 It is difficult to sa} r whether the object of these 
 inclosures is to avoid all disputes of possession, or 
 whether the custom is a lazy one of keeping the cattle 
 from straying, without the trouble of watching them ; 
 at any rate such formidable barriers are permanent 
 obstacles, which make these regions impenetrable and 
 ordinary warfare impossible. There lies the whole 
 secret of the Chouan war. Mademoiselle de Verneuil 
 saw plainly the necessity the Republic was under to 
 strangle the disaffection by means of the police and by 
 negotiation, rather than by a useless employment of 
 military force. What could be done, in fact, with a 
 people wise enough to despise the possession of towns, 
 and hold to that of an open country already furnished 
 with indestructible fortifications? Surely, nothing ex- 
 cept negotiate ; especial!}" as the whole active strength 
 of these deluded peasants lay in a single able and enter- 
 prising leader. She admired the genius of the minister 
 who, sitting in his study, had been able to grasp the 
 true wa}" of procuring peace. She thought she under- 
 stood the considerations which act on the minds of 
 men powerful enough to take a bird's-eye view of an 
 empire; men whose actions, criminal in the eyes of the 
 masses, are the outcome of a vast and intelligent 
 thought. There is in these terrible souls some myste- 
 rious blending of the force of lute and that of destiny, 
 some prescience which suddenly elevates them above 
 their fellows ; the musses seek them for a time in
 
 The Chouana. 207 
 
 their own ranks, then they raise their eyes and see 
 these lordly souls above them. 
 
 Such reflections as these seemed to Mademoiselle de 
 Verneuil to justify and even to ennoble her thoughts of 
 vengeance ; this travail of her soul and its expectations 
 gave her vigor enough to bear the unusual fatigues of 
 this strange journey. At the end of each property 
 Galope-Chopine made the women dismount from their 
 donkeys and climb the obstructions ; then, mounting 
 again, they made their way through the boggy paths 
 which already felt the approach of winter. The combi- 
 nation of tall trees, sunken paths, and inclosed places, 
 kept the soil in a state of humidity which wrapped the 
 travellers in a mantle of ice. However, after much 
 wearisome fatigue, they managed to reach the woods of 
 Marignay by sunrise. The journey then became less 
 difficult, and led by a broad footway through the forest. 
 The arch formed by the branches, and the great size of 
 the trees protected the travellers from the weather, and 
 the many difficulties of the first half of their way did not 
 recur. 
 
 They had hardly gone a couple of miles through the 
 woods before they heard a confused noise of distant 
 voices and the tinkling of a bell, the silver}' tones of 
 which did not have the monotonous sound given by the 
 movements of cattle. Galope-Chopine listened with great 
 attention, as he walked along, to this melody ; presently 
 a puff of wind brought several chanted words to his ear, 
 which seemed to afTect him powerfully, for he suddenly 
 turned the wearied donkeys into a by-path, which led 
 awa}- from Saint-James, paying no attention to the 
 strong remonstrances of Mademoiselle de Verneuil, 
 whose fears were increased by the darkness of the
 
 2G8 The Chouans. 
 
 forest path along which their guide now led them. To 
 right and left were enormous blocks of granite, laid one 
 upon the other, of whimsical shape. Across them huge 
 roots had glided, like monstrous serpents, seeking from 
 afar the juicy nourishment enjoyed by a few beeches. 
 The two sides of the road resembled the subterranean 
 grottos that are famous for stalactites. Immense fes- 
 toons of stone, where the darkling verdure of ivy and 
 holly allied itself to the green-gray patches of the 
 moss and lichen, hid the precipices and the openings 
 into several caves. When the three travellers had gone 
 a few steps through a very narrow path a most surpris- 
 ing spectacle suddenly unfolded itself to Mademoiselle 
 de Yerneuirs eyes, and made her understand the obsti- 
 nacy of her Chouan guide. 
 
 A semi-circular basin of granite blocks formed an 
 amphitheatre, on the rough tiers of which rose tall 
 black pines and yellowing chestnuts, one above the 
 other, like a vast circus, where the wintry sun shed its 
 pale colors rather than poured its light, and autumn had 
 spread her tawny carpet of fallen leaves. About the 
 middle of this hall, which seemed to have had the 
 deluge for its architect, stood three enormous Druid 
 stones, a vast altar, on which was raised an old 
 church-banner. About a hundred men, kneeling with 
 bared heads, were prnying fervently in this natural 
 enclosure, where a priest, assisted by two other eccle- 
 siastics, was saying mass. The poverty of the sacer- 
 dotal vestments, the feeble voice of the priest, which 
 echoed like a murmur through the open space, the 
 praying men filled with conviction and united by one 
 and the same sentiment, the bare- cross, the wild and 
 barren temple, the dawning day, gave the primitive
 
 The Chouans. 269 
 
 character of the earlier times of Christianity to the 
 scene. Mademoiselle de Verneuil was struck with ad- 
 miration. This mass said in the depths of the woods, 
 this worship driven back by persecution to its sources, 
 the poesy of ancient times revived in the midst of this 
 weird and romantic nature, these armed and unarmed 
 Chouans, cruel and praying, men yet children, all these 
 things resembled nothing that she had ever seen or 
 yet imagined. She remembered admiring in her child- 
 hood the pomps of the Roman church so pleasing to 
 the senses ; but she knew nothing of God alone, his 
 cross on the altar, his altar the earth. In place of 
 the carved foliage which wreaths the columns of a 
 Gothic cathedral, the autumnal trees upheld the sky ;. 
 instead of a thousand colors thrown through stained 
 glass windows, the sun could barely slide its ruddy rays 
 and dull reflections on altar, priest, and people. The 
 men present were a fact, a reality, and not a system, 
 it was a prayer, not a religion. But human passions, 
 the momentary repression of which gave harmony to 
 the picture, soon reappeared on this mysterious scene 
 and gave it powerful vitality. 
 
 As Mademoiselle de Verneuil reached the spot the 
 reading of the gospel was just over. She recognized 
 in the officiating priest, not without fear, the Abbe 
 Gudin, and she hastily slipped behind a granite block, 
 drawing Francine after her. She was, however, unable 
 to move Galope-Chopine from the place he had chosen, 
 and from which he intended to share in the benefits of 
 the ceremony ; but she noticed the nature of the ground 
 around her, and hoped to be able to evade the danger 
 by getting away, when the service was over, before the 
 priests. Through a large fissure of the rock that hid
 
 270 The Chouans. 
 
 her, she saw the Abbe Gudin mounting a block of 
 granite which served him as a pulpit, where he began 
 his sermon with the words, 
 
 " In nomine Patris tt Filii, et /Spiritus Sancti" 
 
 All present made the sign of the cross. 
 
 " My dear friends," continued the abbe, " let us 
 pray in the first place for the souls of the dead, Jean 
 Cochegrue, Nicolas Laferte, Joseph Brouet, Francois 
 Parquoi, Sulpice Coupiau, all of this parish, and dead 
 of wounds received in the fight on Mont Pelerine and 
 at the siege of Fougeres. De profundisj' etc. 
 
 The psalm was recited, according to custom, by the 
 congregation and the priests, taking verses alternately 
 with a fervor which augured well for the success of the 
 sermon. When it was over the abbe continued, in a 
 voice which became gradually louder and louder, for the 
 former Jesuit was not unaware that vehemence of de- 
 livery was in itself a powerful argument with which to 
 persuade his semi-savage hearers. 
 
 " These defenders of our God, Christians, have set 3'ou 
 an example of duty," he .said. " Are you not ashamed 
 of what will be said of you in paradise? If it were not 
 for these blessed ones, who have just been received with 
 open arms by all the saints, our Lord might have 
 thought that 3'our parish is inhabited by Mahometans ! 
 Do you know, men, what is said of you in Brittany 
 and in the king's presence? "What! 3'ou don't know? 
 Then I shall tell you. They say : ' Behold, the Blues 
 have cast down altars, and killed priests, and murdered 
 the king and queen ; they mean to make the parish folk 
 of Brittany Blues like themselves, and send them to 
 fight in foreign lands, away from their churches, where 
 they run the risk of dying without confession and going
 
 The Chouans. 271 
 
 eternal!} 7 to hell ; and yet the gars of Marignny, whose 
 churches they have burned, stand still with folded arms ! 
 Oh ! oh ! this Republic of damned souls has sold the 
 property of God and that of the nobles at auction ; it has 
 shared the proceeds with the Blues ; it has decreed, in or- 
 der to gorge itself with money as it does with blood, that 
 a crown shall be only worth three francs instead of six ; 
 and yet the gars of Marignay have n't seized their weap- 
 ons and driven the Blues from Brittaiv)* ! Ha ! para- 
 dise will be closed to them ! they can never save their 
 souls ! ' That 's what they say of you in the king's 
 presence ! It is your own salvation, Christians, which 
 is at stake. Your souls are to be saved by fighting for 
 religion and the king. Saint Anne of Auray herself ap- 
 peared to me yesterday at half -past two o'clock ; and 
 she said to me these very words which I now repeat 
 to you : ' Are you a priest of Marignay ? ' ' Yes, 
 madame, ready to serve 3'ou.' ' I am Saint Anne of 
 Auray, aunt of God, after the manner of Brittany. I 
 have come to bid } r ou warn the people of Marignay that 
 they must not hope for salvation if they do not take 
 arms. You are to refuse them absolution for their sins 
 unless they serve God. Bless their guns, and those 
 who gain absolution will never miss the Blues, because 
 their guns are sanctified.' She disappeared, leaving an 
 odor of incense behind her. I marked the spot. It is 
 under the oak of the Patte d'Oie ; just where that beau- 
 tiful wooden Virgin was placed b} r the rector of Saint- 
 James ; to whom the crippled mother of Pierre Leroi 
 (otherwise called Marche-a-Terre) came to pray, and was 
 cured of all her pains, because of her son's good deeds. 
 You see her there in the midst of you, and you know 
 that she walks without assistance. It was a miracle
 
 272 The Chouans. 
 
 a miracle intended, like the resurrection of Marie Lam- 
 brequin to prove to you that God will never forsake the 
 Breton cause so long as the people fight for his servants 
 and for the king. Therefore, my clear brothers, if you 
 wish to save your souls and show yourselves defenders 
 of God and the king, you will obey all the orders of the 
 man whom God has sent to us, and whom we call THE 
 GARS. Then indeed, you will no longer be Mahome- 
 tans ; 3'ou will rank with all the gars of Brittany under 
 the flag of God. You can take from the pockets of the 
 Blues the money they have stolen from 3-011 ; for, if the 
 fields have to go uncultivated while }'ou are making 
 war, God and the king will deliver to 3-011 the spoils of 
 3'our enemies. Shall it be said, Christians, that the 
 gars of Marigna3" are behind the gars of the Morbihan, 
 the gars of Saint-Georges, of Vitre, of Antrain, who 
 are all faithful to God and the king? Will 3-011 let 
 them get all the spoils? Will you stand like here- 
 tics, with 3-0111' arms folded, when other Bretons are 
 saving their souls and saving their king? 'Forsake 
 all, and follow me,' sa3 - s the Gospel. Have we not for- 
 saken our tithes, we priests? And 3-011, I sav to 3-011, 
 forsake all for this hol\- war ! You shall be like the 
 Maccabees. All will be forgiven you. You will find the 
 priests and curates in \'our midst, and 3-011 will conquer ! 
 Pay attention to these words, Christians," he said, as 
 he ended ; ' for this da\ T onby have we the power to 
 bless your guns. Those who do not take advantage of 
 the Saint's favor will not find her merciful ; she will 
 not forgive them or listen to them as she did in the last 
 war." 
 
 This appeal, enforced by the power of a loud voice 
 and bv manv gestures, the vehemence of whi'-h bathed
 
 The CJiouans. 273 
 
 the orator in perspiration, produced, apparently, very 
 little effect. The peasants stood motionless, their eyes 
 on the speaker, like statues ; but Mademoiselle de Ver- 
 neuil presently noticed that this universal attitude was 
 the result of a spell cast by the abbe on the crowd. He 
 had, like great actors, held his audience as one man 
 l\y addressing their passions and self-interests. He had 
 absolved excesses before committal, and broken the 
 only bonds which held these boorish men to the prac- 
 tice of religious and social precepts. He had prosti- 
 tuted his sacred office to political interests ; but it must 
 be said that, in these times of revolution, even' man 
 made a weapon of whatever he possessed for the benefit 
 of his party, and the pacific cross of Jesus became as 
 much an instrument of war as the peasant's plough- 
 share. 
 
 Seeing no one with whom to advise, Mademoiselle de 
 Verneuil turned to look for Francine, and was not a 
 little astonished to see that she shared in the rapt en- 
 thusiasm, and was devoutly saying her chaplet over some 
 beads which Galope-Chopine had probablj" given her 
 during the sermon. 
 
 "Francine," she said, in a low voice, "are you afraid 
 of being a Mahometan? " 
 
 "Oh! mademoiselle," replied the girl, "just see 
 Pierre's mother ; she is walking ! " 
 
 Francine's whole attitude showed such deep convic- 
 tion that Marie understood at once the secret of the 
 homily, the influence of the clergy over the rural masses, 
 and the tremendous effect of the scene which was now 
 beginning. 
 
 The peasants advanced one by one and knelt down, 
 presenting their guns to the preacher, who laid them 
 
 18
 
 274 The Chouans. 
 
 upon the altar. Galope-Chopine offered his old duck- 
 shooter. The three priests sang the hymn "Yeni, 
 Creator," while the celebrant wrapped the instruments 
 of death in bluish clouds of incense, waving the smoke 
 into shapes that appeared to interlace one another. 
 When the breeze had dispersed the vapor the guns were 
 returned in due order. Each man received his own on 
 his knees from the hands of the priests, who recited a 
 Latin prayer as they returned them. After the men 
 had regained their places, the profound enthusiasm of 
 the congregation, mute until then, broke forth and 
 resounded in a formidable manner. 
 
 " Domitie salvumfac rer/c/n!" was the prayer which 
 the preacher intoned in an echoing voice, and was then 
 sung vehemently by the people. The cry had some- 
 thing savage and warlike in it. The two notes of the 
 word r<;gem, readily interpreted by the peasants, were 
 taken with such energy that Mademoiselle de VenieinTs 
 thoughts reverted almost tenderly to the exiled Bour- 
 bon family. These recollections awakened those of her 
 past life. Her memory revived the fetes of a court now 
 dispersed, in which she had once a share. The face of 
 the marquis entered her revery. With the natural mo- 
 bility of a woman's mind she forgot the scene before 
 her and reverted to her plans of vengeance, which might 
 cost her her life or come to nought under the influence 
 of a look. Seeing a branch of holly the trivial thought 
 crossed her mind that in this decisive moment, when 
 she wished to appear in all her beauty at the ball, she 
 had no decoration for her hair: and she gathered a tuft 
 of the prickly leaves and shining berries with the idea 
 of wearing them. 
 
 ' Ho ! ho ! my gun may miss fire on a. duck, but on a
 
 The Chouans. 275 
 
 Blue, never ! " cried Galope-Chopine, nodding his head 
 in sign of satisfaction. 
 
 Marie examined her guide's face attentively, and 
 found it of the type of those she had just seen. The 
 old Chouan had evidently no more ideas than a child. 
 A naive joy wrinkled his cheeks and forehead as he 
 looked at his gun ; but a pious conviction cast upon 
 that expression of his joy a tinge of fanaticism, which 
 brought into his face for an instant the signs of the 
 vices of civilization. 
 
 Presently they reached a village, or rather a collec- 
 tion of huts like that of Galope-Chopine, where the rest 
 of the congregation arrived before Mademoiselle de 
 Verneuil had finished the milk and bread and butter 
 which formed the meal. This irregular company was 
 led by the abbe, who held in his hand a rough cross 
 draped with a flag, followed by a gars, who was proudly 
 carrying the parish banner. Mademoiselle de Verneuil 
 was compelled to mingle with this detachment, which was 
 on its way, like herself, to Saint-James, and would 
 naturally protect her from all danger as soon as 
 Galope-Chopine informed them that the Gars glove 
 was in her possession, provided always that the abbe 
 did not see her. 
 
 Towards sunset the three travellers arrived safely at 
 Saint-James, a little town which owes its name to the 
 English, by whom it was built in the fourteenth century, 
 during their occupation of Brittany. Before entering it 
 Mademoiselle de Verneuil was witness of a strange 
 scene of this strange war, to which, however, she gave 
 little attention ; she feared to be recognized by some of 
 her enemies, and this dread hastened her steps. Five 
 or six thousand peasants were camping in a field. Their
 
 276 The Chouans. 
 
 clothing was not in any degree warlike ; in fact, this 
 tumultuous assembly resembled that of a great fair. 
 Some attention was needed to even observe that these 
 Bretons were armed, for their goatskins were so made 
 as to hide their guns, and the weapons that were chiefby 
 visible were the scythes with which some of the rnen 
 had armed themselves while awaiting the distribution of 
 muskets. Some were eating and drinking, others were 
 fighting and quarrelling in loud tones, but the greater 
 part were sleeping on the ground. An officer in a red 
 uniform attracted Mademoiselle de Verneuil's attention, 
 and she supposed him to belong to the English service. 
 At a little distance two other officers seemed to be try- 
 ing to teach a few Chouans, more intelligent than the 
 rest, to handle two cannon, which apparently formed 
 the whole artillery of the royalist army. Shouts hailed 
 the coming of the gars of Marigna}', who were recognized 
 by their banner. Under cover of the tumult which the 
 new-comers and the priests excited in the camp. Made- 
 moiselle de Verneuil was able to make her way past it 
 and into the town without danger. She stopped at a 
 plain-looking inn not far from the building where the 
 ball was to be given. The town was so full of strangers 
 that she could only obtain one miserable room. When 
 she was safely in it Galope-Chopine brought Francine 
 the box which contained the ball dress, and having 
 done so he stood stock-still in an attitude of indescrib- 
 able irresolution. At any other time Mademoiselle de 
 Verneuil would have been much amused to see what a 
 Breton peasant can bo like when he leaves his native 
 parish ; but now she broke the charm by opening her 
 purse and producing four crowns of six francs each, 
 which she <iave him.
 
 The Ckouans. 277 
 
 " Take it," she said, "and if you wish to oblige me, 
 } r ou will go straight back to Fougeres without entering 
 the camp or drinking any cider." 
 
 The (Jhouan, amazed at her liberality, looked first at 
 the crowns (which he had taken) and then at Mademoi- 
 selle de Verneuil ; but she made him a sign with her 
 hand and he disappeared. 
 
 " How could you send him away, mademoiselle ? " 
 said Francine. " Don't you see how the place is sur- 
 rounded? we shall never get away! and who will pro- 
 tect 3"ou here ? " 
 
 " You have a protector of 3'our own," said Marie ma- 
 liciously, giving in an undertone Marche-a-Terre's owl 
 cry which she was constantly practising. 
 
 Francine colored, and smiled rather sadly at her 
 mistress's gayety. 
 
 " But who is yours ? " she said. 
 
 Mademoiselle de Verneuil plucked out her dagger, 
 and showed it to the frightened girl, who dropped on a 
 chair and clasped her hands. 
 
 "What have 3*011 come here for, Marie?" she cried 
 in a supplicating voice which asked no answer. 
 
 Mademoiselle de Verneuil was busily twisting the 
 branches of holly which she had gathered. 
 
 " I don't know whether this holly will be becoming," 
 she said ; " a brilliant skin like mine ma3 T possibh' bear 
 a dark wreath of this kind. What do you think, 
 Francine? " 
 
 Several remarks of the same kind as she dressed for 
 the ball showed the absolute self-possession and cool- 
 ness of this strange woman. Whoever had listened to 
 her then would have found it hard to believe in the 
 gravit3' of a situation in which she was risking her life.
 
 278 The Chouans. 
 
 An India muslin gown, rather short and clinging like 
 damp linen, revealed the delicate outlines of her shape ; 
 over this she wore a red drapery, numerous folds of 
 which, gradually lengthening as they fell by her side, 
 took the graceful curves of a Greek pepluin. This vo- 
 luptuous garment of the pagan priestesses lessened the 
 indecency of the rest of the attire which the fashions of 
 the time suffered women to wear. To soften its im- 
 modesty still further, Marie threw a gauze scarf over 
 her shoulders, left bare and far too low by the red 
 drapery. She wound the long braids of her hair into 
 the flat irregular cone above the nape of the neck which 
 gives such grace to certain antique statues by an artistic 
 elongation of the head, while a few stray locks escaping 
 from her forehead fell in shining curls beside her cheeks. 
 With a form and head thus dressed, she presented a 
 perfect likeness of the noble masterpieces of Greek 
 sculpture. She smiled as she looked with approval at 
 the arrangement of her hair, which brought out the 
 beauties of her face, while the scarlet berries of the 
 holly wreath which she laid upon it repeated charmingly 
 the color of the pepluin. As she twisted and turned a 
 few leaves, to give capricious diversity to their arrange- 
 ment, she examined her whole costume in a mirror to 
 judge of its general effect. 
 
 tk I am horrible to-night," she said, as though she 
 were surrounded by flatterers. " J look like a statue 
 of Liberty." 
 
 She placed the dagger carefully in her bosom leaving 
 the rubies in the hilt exposed, their ruddy reflections 
 attracting the eye to the hidden beauties of her shape. 
 Fnincine could not bring herself to leave her mistress. 
 When Murie was ready she made various pretexts to
 
 The Chouans. 279 
 
 follow her. She must help her to take off her mantle, 
 and the overshoes which the mud and muck in the 
 streets compelled her to wear (though the roads had 
 been sanded for this occasion) ; also the gauze veil 
 which Mademoiselle de Verneuil had thrown over her 
 head to conceal her features from the Chouans who 
 were collecting in the streets to watch the company. 
 The crowd was in fact so great that they were forced 
 to make their way through two hedges of Chouans. 
 Francine no longer strove to detain her mistress, and 
 after giving a few last touches to a costume the great- 
 est charm of which was its exquisite freshness, she 
 stationed herself in the courtyard that she might not 
 abandon this beloved mistress to her fate without being 
 able to fly to her succor ; for the poor girl foresaw only 
 evil in these events. 
 
 A strange scene was taking place in Montauran's 
 chamber as Marie was on her way to the ball. The 
 young marquis, who had just finished dressing, was 
 putting on the broad red ribbon which distinguished 
 him as first in rank of the assembly, when the Abba 
 Gudin entered the room with an anxious air. 
 
 ' Monsieur le marquis, come quickly,'' he said. 
 "You alone can quell a tumult which has broken out, 
 I don't know why, among the leaders. They talk of 
 abandoning the king's cause. I think that devil of a 
 Riftx'! is at the bottom of it. Such quarrels are always 
 caused by some mere nonsense. Madame da Gua 
 reproached him, so I hear, for coining to the ball 
 ill-dressed." 
 
 That woman must be crazy," cried the marquis, "to 
 try to " 
 
 Rifoe'l retorted," continued the abbe, interrupting
 
 280 The Chouans. 
 
 his chief, " that if you had given him the money prom- 
 ised him in the king's name " 
 
 "Enough, enough; I understand it all now. This 
 scene has all been arranged, and you are put forward 
 as ambassador 
 
 '' I, monsieur le marquis ! " said the abbe, again in- 
 terrupting him. "I am supporting you vigorously, and 
 you will, I hope, do me the justice to believe that the 
 restoration of our altars in France and that of the king 
 upon the throne of his fathers are far more powerful 
 incentives to my humble labors than the bishopric of 
 Rennes which you " 
 
 The abbe dared say no more, for the marquis smiled 
 bitterh' at his last words. However, the young chief 
 instantly repressed all expression of feeling, his brow 
 grew stern, and he followed the Abbe Gudin into a hall 
 where the worst of the clamor was echoing. 
 
 " I recognize no authority here," Rifoel was saying, 
 casting angry looks at all about him and laying his 
 hand on the hilt of his sabre. 
 
 'Do you recognize that of common-sense?" asked 
 the marquis, coldly. 
 
 The young Chevalier de Vissard, better known under 
 his patronymic of Rifoel. was silent before the general 
 of the Catholic armies. 
 
 "What is all this about, gentlemen?" asked the 
 marquis, examining the faces round him. 
 
 "This, monsieur le marquis,'" said a famous smuggler, 
 with the awkwardness of a man of the people who long 
 remains under the yoke of respect to a great lord, 
 though he admits no barriers after he has once jumped 
 them, and regards the aristocrat as an equal only, 
 " this,'' he said, " and you have come in the nick of
 
 The Chouans. 281 
 
 time to hear it. I am no speaker of gilded phrases, and I 
 shall say things plainly. I commanded five hundred men 
 during the late war. Since we have taken up arms 
 again I have raised a thousand heads as hard as mine 
 for the service of the king. It is now seven }'ears that 
 I have risked my life in the good cause ; I don't blame 
 you, but I sa}' that the laborer is worthy of his hire. 
 Now, to begin with, I demand that I be called Monsieur 
 de Cottereau. I also demand that the rank of colonel 
 shall be granted me, or I send in my adhesion to the 
 First Consul ! Let me tell you, monsieur le marquis, 
 ni}- men and I have a devilishly importunate creditor 
 who must be satisfied he 's here ! " he added, striking 
 his stomach. 
 
 "Have the musicians come?" said the marquis, in a 
 contemptuous tone, turning to Madame du Gua. 
 
 But the smuggler had dealt boldly with an important 
 topic, and the calculating, ambitious minds of those 
 present had been too long in suspense as to what they 
 might hope for from the king to allow the scorn of 
 their new leader to put an end to the scene. Rifoel 
 hastily blocked the wa}' before Montauran, and seized 
 his hand to oblige him to remain. 
 
 " Take care, monsieur le marquis," he said ; " 3*011 
 are treating far too lightly men who have a right to the 
 gratitude of him whom you are here to represent. We 
 know that his Majesty has sent you with full powers to 
 judge of our services, and we say that they ought to be 
 recognized and rewarded, for we risk our heads upon 
 the scaffold daily. I know, so far as I am concerned, 
 that the rank of brigadier-general " 
 
 ''You mean colonel." 
 
 ' No, monsieur le marquis ; Charette made me a
 
 282 The Chouans. 
 
 colonel. The rank I mention cannot be denied me. I 
 am not arguing for myself, I speak for my brave broth- 
 ers-in-arms. whose services ought to be recorded. Your 
 signature and your promise will suffice them for the 
 present ; though," he added, in a low voice, " I must say 
 they are satisfied with very little. But.'" he continued, 
 raising his voice, '' when the sun rises on the chateau of 
 Versailles to glorify the return of the monarchy after 
 the faithful have conquered France, in France, for the 
 king, will they obtain favors for their families, pensions 
 for widows, and the restitution of their confiscated 
 property? J doubt it. But, monsieur le marquis, we 
 must have certified proof of our services when that 
 time comes. I will never distrust the king, but I do 
 distrust those cormorants of ministers and courtiers, 
 who tingle his ears with talk about the public welfare, 
 the honor of France, the interests of the crown, and 
 other crochets. They will sneer at a loyal Vendean or 
 a brave Chotian. because he is old and the sword he 
 drew for the good cause dangles on his withered legs, 
 palsied with exposure. Can you sa}" that we are wrong 
 in feeling thus? " 
 
 " You talk well, Monsieur du Vissard, but you are 
 over hasty,'"' replied the marquis. 
 
 " Listen, marquis, said the Comte de Bauvan, in a 
 whisper. '' Hi foci has really, on my word, told the 
 truth. You are sure, yourself, to have the ear of the 
 king, while; the rest of us only see him at a distance 
 and from time to time. I will own to vou that if you 
 do not give me your word as a gentleman that I shall, 
 in due course of time, obtain the place of Master of 
 Woods and AYaters in France, the devil take me if I 
 will risk uuy ueck any longer. To conquer .Xormaudy
 
 The C ho nans. 283 
 
 for the king is not an easy matter, and I demand the 
 Order for it. lint," he added, coloring, " there 's time 
 enough to think of that. God forbid that I should 
 imitate these poor mercenaries and harass you. Speak 
 to the king for me, and that's enough." 
 
 Each of the chiefs found means to let the marquis 
 know, in a more or less ingenious manner, the exag- 
 gerated price the}* set upon their services. One mod- 
 estly demanded the governorship of Brittany ; another 
 a barony ; this one a promotion ; that one a command ; 
 and all wanted pensions. 
 
 11 Well, baron," said the marquis to Monsieur du 
 Guenic, " don't you want anything? " 
 
 " These gentlemen have left me nothing but the 
 crown of France, marquis, but I might manage to put 
 up with that 
 
 '' Gentlemen ! " cried the Abbd Gudin, in a loud voice, 
 " remember that if you are too eager you will spoil eveiy- 
 thing in the da\" of victory. The king will then be com- 
 pelled to make concessions to the revolutionists." 
 
 " To those Jacobins ! '' shouted the smuggler. " Ha ! 
 if the king would let me have my way, I 'd answer for 
 my thousand men ; we 'd soon wring their necks and be 
 rid of them." 
 
 " Monsieur de Cottereau," said the marquis, " I 
 see some of our invited guests arriving. We must all 
 do our best ~by attention and courtesy to make them 
 share our sacred enterprise ; you will agree. I am sure, 
 that this is not the moment to bring forward your de- 
 mands, however just they may be." 
 
 So saying, the marquis went towards the door, as if to 
 meet certain of the country nobles who were entering 
 the room, but the bold smuggler barred his way iu a 
 respectful manner.
 
 284 The Chouans. 
 
 " No, no, monsieur le marquis, excuse me," he said : 
 " the Jacobins taught rne too well in 1793 that it is not 
 he that sows and reaps who eats the bread. Sign this bit 
 of paper for me, and to-morrow I '11 bring you fifteen 
 hundred gars. If not, I '11 treat with the First Consul." 
 
 Looking haughtily about him, the marquis saw plainly 
 that the boldness of the old partisan and his resolute 
 air were not displeasing to any of the spectators of this 
 debate. One man alone, sitting by himself in a corner 
 of the room, appeared to take no part in the scene, and 
 to be chiefly occupied in filling his pipe. The con- 
 temptuous air with which he glanced at the speakers, 
 his modest demeanor, and a look of sympath}- which 
 the marquis encountered in his eyes, made the 3'oung 
 leader observe the man, whom he then recognized as 
 Major Brigaut, and lie went suddenly up to him. 
 
 tk And you, what do you want?" he said. 
 
 " Oh, monsieur le marquis, if the king comes back 
 that 's all I want." 
 
 " But for .yourself ? " 
 
 " For myself ? are you joking ? " 
 
 The marquis pressed the horny hand of the Breton, 
 and said to Madame du Gua, who was near them : 
 " Madame, I may perish in this enterprise before I 
 have time to make a faithful report to the king on the 
 Catholic armies of Brittany. I charge .you, in case you 
 live to see the Restoration, not to forget this honorable 
 man nor the Baron du Guenic. There is more devo- 
 tion in them than in all those other men put together.'' 
 
 He pointed to the chiefs, who were waiting with some 
 impatience till the marquis should reply to their de- 
 mands. They were all holding papers in their hands, 
 on which, no doubt, their services were recorded over
 
 The Chouans. 285 
 
 the signatures of the various generals of the former 
 war; ami all were murmuring. The Abbe Gudin, the 
 Comte de Ban van, and the Baron du Guenic were con- 
 sulting how best to help the marquis in rejecting these 
 extravagant demands, for they felt the position of the 
 young leader to be extremely delicate. 
 
 Suddenly the marquis ran his blue eyes, gleaming 
 with satire, over the whole assembly, and said in a clear 
 voice : " Gentlemen, I do not know whether the powers 
 which the king has gracious!}' assigned to me are such 
 that I am able to satisfy your demands. He doubtless 
 did not foresee such zeal, such devotion, on your part. 
 You shall judge yourselves of the duties put upon me, 
 duties which I shall know how to accomplish." 
 
 So saying, he left the room and returned immediately 
 holding in his hand an open letter bearing the royal seal 
 and signature. 
 
 " These are the letters-patent in virtue of which you 
 are to obey me," he said. " They authorize me to 
 govern the provinces of Brittany, Normandy, Maine, 
 and Anjou, in the king's name, and to recognize the 
 services of such officers as may distinguish themselves 
 in his armies." 
 
 A movement of satisfaction ran through the assembly. 
 The Chouans approached the marquis and made a re- 
 spectful circle round him. All eyes fastened on the 
 king's signature. The young chief, who was standing 
 
 O O i/O O 
 
 near the chimney, suddenly threw the letters into the 
 fire, and they were burned in a second. 
 
 " I do not choose to command any," cried the young 
 man, '' but those who see a king in the king, and not a 
 prey to prey upon. You are free, gentlemen, to leave 
 me."
 
 286 The Chouans. 
 
 Madame clu Gua, the Abbe Gudin, Major Bngaut, 
 the Chevalier du Vissard, the Baron du Guenic. uiul the 
 Comte de Bauvan raised the cry of " Vive le roi ! " 
 Fora moment the other leaders hesitated ; then, carried 
 away by the noble action of the marquis, they begged 
 him to forget what had passed, assuring him that, let- 
 ters-patent or not, he must always be their leader. 
 
 " Come and dance," cried the Comte de Bauvan, 
 " and happen what will ! After all," he added, gayly, 
 " it is better, my friends, to pray to God than the 
 saints. Let us fight first, and see what comes of it." 
 
 "Ha! that's good advice," said Brigaut. " I have 
 never yet known a day's pay drawn in the morning." 
 
 The assembly dispersed about the rooms, where the 
 guests were now arriving. The marquis tried in vain 
 to shake off the gloom which darkened his face. The 
 chiefs perceived the unfavorable impression made upon 
 a young man whose devotion was still surrounded by 
 all the beautiful illusions of youth, and they were 
 ashamed of their action. 
 
 However, a joyous gayety soon enlivened the opening 
 of the ball, at which were present the most important 
 personages of the royalist party, who, unable to judge 
 rightly, in the depths of a rebellious province, of the 
 actual events of the Revolution, mistook their hopes for 
 realities. The bold operations already begun by Mon- 
 tauran, his name, his fortune, his capacity, raised their 
 courage ami caused that political intoxication, the most 
 dangerous of all excitements, which does not cool till 
 torrents of blood have been uselessly shed. In the 
 minds of all present the Revolution was nothing more 
 than a passing trouble to the kingdom of France, where, 
 to their belated eyes, nothing was changed. The conn-
 
 The Chouans. 287 
 
 try belonged as it ever did to the house of Bourbon. 
 The nryalists were the lords of the soil as completely 
 as they were four years earlier, when Hoc-he obtained 
 less a peaee than an armistice. The nobles made light 
 of the revolutionists ; for them Bonaparte was another, 
 but more fortunate, Marceau. So gayety reigned. 
 The women had come to dance. A few 01113* of the 
 chiefs, who had fought the Blues, knew the gravity of 
 the situation ; but they were well aware that if they 
 talked of the First Consul and his power to their be- 
 nighted companions, they could not make themselves 
 understood. These men stood apart and looked at 
 the women with indifference. Madame clu Gua, who 
 seemed to do the honors of the ball, endeavored to 
 quiet the impatience of the dancers by dispensing 
 flatteries to each in turn. The musicians were tuning 
 their instruments and the dancing was about to begin, 
 when Madame du Gua noticed the gloom on de Mon- 
 tauran's face and went hurriedly up to him. 
 
 "I hope it is not that vulgar scene you have just 
 had with those clodhoppers which depresses you?" she 
 said. 
 
 She got no answer ; the marquis, absorbed in thought, 
 was listening in fancy to the prophetic reasons which 
 Marie had given him in the midst of the same chiefs at 
 La Vivetiere, urging him to abandon the struggle of 
 kings against peoples. But the young man's soul was 
 too proud, too loft}*, too full perhaps of conviction, to 
 abandon an enterprise he had once begun, and he de- 
 cided at this moment, to continue it boldly in the face 
 of all obstacles. He raised his head haughtily, and for 
 the first time noticed that Madame du Gua was speak- 
 ing to him.
 
 288 The Chouans. 
 
 "Your mind is no doubt at Fougeres," she remarked 
 bitterly, seeing how useless her efforts to attract his at- 
 tention had been. "Ah, monsieur, I would give my 
 life to put her within your power, and see you happy 
 with her." 
 
 " Then why have yon done all you could to kill her? " 
 
 "Because I wish her dead or in your arms. Yes, I 
 ma} r have loved the Marquis do Montauran wken I 
 thought him a hero, but now I feel only a pitying 
 friendship for him ; I see him shorn of all his glory by 
 a fickle love for a worthless woman." 
 
 " As for love," said the marquis, in a sarcastic tone, 
 " you judge me wrong. If I loved that girl, niadame, 
 I might desire her less ; if it were not for you, per- 
 haps I should not think of her at all." 
 
 "Here she is ! " exclaimed Madame du Gua. abruptly. 
 
 The haste with which the marquis looked round went 
 to the heart of the woman ; but the clear light ot the 
 wax candles enabled her to see every change on the 
 face of the man she loved so violently, and when he 
 turned back his face, smiling at her woman's trick, she 
 fancied there was still some hope of recovering him. 
 
 "What are you laughing at? "asked the Comte de 
 Bau van. 
 
 'At a soap-bubble which has burst," interposed 
 Madame du Gua, gayly. " The marquis, if we are now 
 to believe him, is astonished that his heart ever beat the 
 faster for that girl who presumes to call herself Made- 
 moiselle de Verneuil. You know who I mean." 
 
 "That girl!" echoed the count. "Madame, the 
 author of a wrong is bound to repair it. I give you my 
 word of honor that she is really the daughter of the 
 Due de Verneuil."
 
 The Chouans. 289 
 
 " Monsieur le comtc," said the marquis, in a changed 
 voice, " which of your statements am I to believe, 
 that of La Vivetiere, or that now made? " 
 
 The loud voice of a servant at the door announced 
 Mademoiselle de Vcrneuil. The count sprang forward 
 instantly, offered his hand to the beautiful woman with 
 every mark of profound respect, and led her through 
 the inquisitive crowd to the marquis and Madame du 
 Gua. "Believe the one now made," he replied to the 
 astonished young leader. 
 
 Madame du Gua turned pale at the unwelcome sight 
 of the girl, who stood for a moment, glancing proudly 
 over the assembled company, among whom she sought 
 to find the guests at La Vivetiere. She awaited the 
 forced salutation of her rival, and, without even looking 
 at the marquis, she allowed the count to lead her to the 
 place of honor beside Madame du Gua, Avhosc bow she 
 returned with an air that was slightly protecting. But 
 the latter, with a woman's instinct, took no offense ; 
 on the contrary, she immediately assumed a smiling, 
 friendly manner. The extraordinary dress and beauty 
 of Mademoiselle dc Verneuil caused a murmur through- 
 out the ballroom. When the marquis and Madame du 
 Gua looked towards the late guests at La Vivetiere they 
 saw them in an attitude of respectful admiration which 
 was not assumed ; each seemed desirous of recovering 
 favor with the misjudged young woman. The enemies 
 were in presence of each other. 
 
 " This is really magic, mademoiselle," said Madame 
 du Gua ; " there is no one like you for surprises. Have 
 you come all alone? " 
 
 "All alone," replied Mademoiselle de Verneuil. "So 
 you have only one to kill to-night, madame." 
 
 19
 
 290 The Chouanx. 
 
 "Be merciful," said Madame du Gua. "I cannot 
 express to you the pleasure I have in seeing you again. 
 I have truly been overwhelmed by the remembrance of 
 the wrongs I have clone you, and am most anxious for 
 an occasion to repair them." 
 
 " As for those wrongs, madame, I readily pardon 
 those yon did to me. but my heart bleeds for the Blues 
 whom you murdered. However, I excuse all, in re- 
 turn for the service you have done me." 
 
 Madame du Gua lost countenance as she felt her 
 hand pressed by her beautiful rival with insulting cour- 
 tesy. The marquis had hitherto stood motionless, but 
 he now seized the arm of the count. 
 
 "You have shamefully misled me," he said; "you 
 have compromised my honor. I am not a Geronte of 
 comedy, and I shall have your life or you will have 
 mine." 
 
 "Marquis," said the count, haughtily, "lam ready 
 to give you all the explanations you desire." 
 
 They passed into the next room. The witnesses of 
 this scene, even those least initiated into the secret, 
 began to understand its nature, so that when the musi- 
 cians gave the signal for the dancing to begin no one 
 moved. 
 
 " Mademoiselle, -what service have I rendered you 
 that deserves a return?" said Madame du Gua, biting 
 her lips in a soil of rage. 
 
 " Did you not enlighten me as to the true character 
 of the Marquis de Montauran, madame? "With what 
 utter indilference that man allowed me to go to my 
 death ! I u'ive him up to von willingly. " 
 
 "Then why are you here?" asked Madame du Gua, 
 eagerly.
 
 The Chouans. 291 
 
 " To recover the respect and consideration you took 
 from me at La Vivetiere, madame. As for all the rest, 
 make yourself eas}'. Even if the marquis returned to 
 me, you know very well that a return is never love." 
 
 Madame du Gua took Mademoiselle de Verneuil's 
 hand with that affectionate touch and motion which 
 women practise to each other, especially in the presence 
 of men. 
 
 "Well, 1113' poor dear child," she said, " I am glad 
 to find you so reasonable. If the service I did you was 
 rather harsh," she added, pressing the hand she held, 
 and feeling a desire to rend it as her fingers felt its 
 
 O O 
 
 softness and delicacy, "it shall at least be thorough. 
 Listen to me, I know the character of the Gars ; lie 
 meant to deceive you ; he neither can nor will marry 
 any woman except " 
 
 "Ah!" 
 
 " Yes, mademoiselle, he has accepted his dangerous 
 mission to win the hand of Mademoiselle d'Uxelles, a 
 marriage to which his Majesty has promised his coun- 
 tenance." 
 
 "Ah! ah !" 
 
 Mademoiselle de Verneuil added not a word to that 
 scornful ejaculation. The young and handsome Cheva- 
 lier du Vissard, eager to be forgiven for the joke which 
 had led to the insults at La VivctK're, now came up to 
 her and respectfully invited her to dance. She placed 
 her hand in his, and they took their places in a quad- 
 rille opposite to Madame du Gua. The gowns of the 
 i'O3'alist women, which recalled the fashions of the ex- 
 iled court, and their creped and powdered hair seemed 
 absurd as soon as they were contrasted with the attire 
 which republican fashions authorized Mademoiselle de
 
 292 The Chouans. 
 
 Verneuil to wear. This attire, which was elegant, rich, 
 and vet severe, was loudly condemned but inwardly 
 envied by all the women present. The men could not 
 restrain their admiration for the beaut}' of her natural 
 hair and the adjustment of a dress the charm of which 
 was in the proportions of the form which it revealed. 
 
 At that moment the marquis and the count re-entered 
 the ballroom behind Mademoiselle de Verneuil, who did 
 not turn her head. If a mirror had not been there to 
 inform her of Montauran's presence, she would have 
 known it from Madame du Gua's face, which scarcely 
 concealed, under an apparently indifferent air, the im- 
 patience with which she awaited the conflict which must, 
 sooner or later, take place between the lovers. Though 
 the marquis talked with the count and other persons, he 
 heard the remarks of all the dancers who from time to 
 time in the mazes of the quadrille took the place of 
 Mademoiselle de Verneuil and her partner. 
 
 " Positiveh", madame, she came alone," said one. 
 
 " She must be a bold woman." replied the lady. 
 
 " If I were dressed like that I should feel myself 
 naked." said another woman. 
 
 "Oh. the gown is not decent, certainly," replied her 
 partner; " but it is so becoming, and she is so hand- 
 some." 
 
 "I am ashamed to look at such perfect dancing, for 
 her sake ; is n't it exactly that of an opera girl?" said 
 the envious woman. 
 
 " Do you suppose she has come here to intrigue for 
 the First Consul?" said another. 
 
 " A joke if she has," replied the partner. 
 
 " Well, she can't oiler innocence as a dowry," said 
 the lady, laughing.
 
 The Chouans. 293 
 
 The Gars turned abruptly to sec the lady who uttered 
 this sarcasm, and Madame du Gua looked at him as 
 it' to say, " You see what people thii.'k of her." 
 
 " Madame," said the count, laughing, "so far, it is 
 only women who have taken her innocence away from 
 her." 
 
 The marquis privately forgave the count. When he 
 ventured to look at his mistress, whose beauty was, like 
 that of most women, brought into relief by the light of 
 the wax candles, she turned her back upon him as she 
 resumed her place, and w r ent on talking to her partner 
 in a wa}' to let the marquis hear the sweetest and most 
 caressing tones of her voice. 
 
 "The First Consul sends dangerous ambassadors," 
 her partner was saying. 
 
 i% Monsieur," she replied, "you all said that at La 
 Vivetiere." 
 
 "You have the memory of a king," replied he, dis- 
 concerted at his own awkwardness. 
 
 "To forgive injuries one mu.^t needs remember them," 
 she said quickly, relieving his embarrassment with a 
 smile. 
 
 "Are we all included in that amnesty?" said the 
 marquis, approaching her. 
 
 But she darted awa\ - in the dance, with the gayety of 
 a child, leaving him without an answer. He watched 
 her coldly and sadly ; she saw it, and bent her head 
 with one of those coquettish motions which the graceful 
 lines of her throat enabled her to make, omitting no 
 movement or attitude which could prove to him the 
 perfection of her figure. She attracted him like hope, 
 and eluded him like a memory. To see her thus was 
 to desire to possess her at any cost. She knew that,
 
 294 The Chouans. 
 
 and the sense it gave her of her own beauty shed upon 
 her whole person an inexpressible charm. The mar- 
 quis felt the storm of love, of rage, of madness, rising 
 in his heart ; he wrung the count's hand violently and 
 left the room. 
 
 k> Is he gone?" said Mademoiselle de Verneuil, re- 
 turning to her place. 
 
 The count gave her a glance and passed into the next 
 room, from which he presently returned accompanied 
 by the Gars. 
 
 " He is mine ! " she thought, observing his face in 
 the mirror. 
 
 She received the young leader with a displeased air 
 and said nothing, but she smiled as she turned awa}' 
 from him ; he was so superior to all about him that she 
 was proud of being able to rule him ; and obeying an 
 instinct which sways all women more or less, she re- 
 solved to let him know the value of a few gracious 
 words by making him pay dear for them. As soon as 
 the quadrille was over, all the gentlemen who had been 
 at La Vivetiere surrounded Mademoiselle de Verneuil, 
 wishing by their flattering attentions to obtain her par- 
 don for the mistake they had made ; but he whom she 
 longed to see at her feet did not approach the circle 
 over which she now reigned a queen. 
 
 ' He thinks I still love him." she thought, " and does 
 not wish to lie confounded with mere flatterers." 
 
 She refused to dance again. Then, as if the ball 
 were given for her, she walked about on the arm of the 
 Comte de 15auvan, to whom she was pleased to show 
 some familiarity. The affair at La Vivetiere was by 
 this time known to all present, thanks to Madame du 
 Gua, and the lovers were the object of general attention.
 
 The Chvmut*. 295 
 
 The marquis dared not again address his mistress ; a 
 sense of the wrong 1 he had done her and the violence of 
 his returning passion made her seem to him actually 
 terrible. On her side Marie watched his apparently 
 calm face while she seemed to be observing the ball. 
 
 ''It is fearfully hot here,'' she said to the count. 
 " Take me to the other side where I can breathe ; I 
 am stifling here." 
 
 And she motioned towards a small room where a few 
 card-players were assembled. The marquis followed her. 
 He ventured to hope she had left the crowd to receive 
 him, and this supposed favor roused his passion to ex- 
 treme violence ; for his love had only increased through 
 the resistance lie had made to it during the last few 
 days. Mademoiselle de Verneuil still tormented him ; 
 her eyes, so soft and velvety for the count, were hard 
 and stern when, as if by accident, they met his. Mon- 
 tauran at last made a painful effort and said, in a 
 muffied voice, "Will you never forgive me?" 
 
 "Love forgives nothing, or It forgives all," she said, 
 coldly. ''But," she added, noticing his joyful look, 
 " it must be love." 
 
 She took the count's arm once more and moved for- 
 ward into a small boudoir which adjoined the cardroom. 
 The marquis followed her. 
 
 " Will you not hear me?" he said. 
 
 "One would really think, monsieur." she replied, 
 " that I had come here to meet you. and not to vindi- 
 cate my own self-respect. If you do not cease this 
 odious pursuit I shall leave the ballroom. 
 
 " Ah ! " he cried, recollecting one of the crazy actions 
 of the last Due de Lorraine, " let me speak to you only 
 so long as I can hold this live coal in my hand."
 
 296 The Chouans. 
 
 He stooped to the hearth and picking up a "brand 
 held it tightly. Mademoiselle de Verneuil flushed, took 
 her arm from that of the count, and looked at the mar- 
 quis in amazement. The count softly withdrew, leaving 
 them alone together. So crazy an action shook Marie's 
 heart, for there is nothing so persuasive in love as cou- 
 rageous folly. 
 
 ''Yon only prove to me." she said, trying to make 
 him throw away the brand, that you are willing to 
 make me suffer cruelly. You are extreme in every- 
 thing. On the word of a fool and the slander of a 
 woman } - ou suspected that one who had just saved your 
 life was capable of betraying you.'" 
 
 t; Yes," he said, smiling. " I have been very cruel to 
 you: but nevertheless, forget it; I shall never forget 
 it. Hear me. I have been shamefully deceived ; but 
 so many circumstances on that fatal day told against 
 you ' 
 
 " And those circumstances were stronger than }"our 
 love ? " 
 
 lie hesitated ; she made a motion of contempt, and 
 rose. 
 
 " Oh, Marie. I shall never cease to believe in you 
 now." 
 
 ' Then throw that fire awa}'. You are mad. Open 
 your hand ; I insist upon it." 
 
 He took delight in still resisting the soft efforts of 
 her fingers, but she succeeded in opening the hand she 
 would fain have kissed. 
 
 " A\ hat good did that do you? " she said, as she tore 
 her handkerchief and laid it on the burn, which the 
 marquis covered with his glove. 
 
 Madame du (Jim had stolen softly into the cardroom,
 
 The Chouans. 297 
 
 watching the lovers with furtive eyes, but escaping 
 theirs adroitly ; it was, however, impossible for her to 
 understand their conversation from their actions. 
 
 " If all that they said of me was true you must admit 
 that I am avenged at this moment," said Marie, with a 
 look of malignity which startled the marquis. 
 
 " What feeling brought you here? " he asked. 
 
 "Do you suppose, in}* dear friend, that you can 
 despise a woman like me with impunity? I came here 
 for your sake and my own," she continued, after a 
 pause, laying her hand on the hilt of rubies in her 
 bosom and showing him the blade of her dagger. 
 
 "What does all that mean?" thought Madame du 
 Qua. 
 
 " But," she continued, " you still love me ; at any rate, 
 you desire me, and the folly }'ou have just committed," 
 she added, taking his hand, "proves it to me. I will 
 again be that I desired to be ; and I return to Fougeres 
 happy. Love absolves everything. You love me ; I 
 have regained the respect of the man who represents 
 to me the whole world, and I can die." 
 
 " Then you still love me?" said the marquis. 
 
 "Have I said so?" she replied with a scornful look, 
 delighting in the torture she was making him endure. 
 " I have run many risks to come here. I have saved 
 Monsieur de Bauvan's life, and he, more grateful than 
 others, offers me in return his fortune and his name. 
 You have never even thought of doing that." 
 
 The marquis, bewildered by these words, stifled the 
 worst anger he had ever felt, supposing that the count 
 had played him false, lie made no answer. 
 
 "Ah ! you reflect," she said, bitterly. 
 
 " Mademoiselle," replied the young man, " your 
 doubts justify mine."
 
 298 The Chouans. 
 
 " Let us leave this room," said Mademoiselle de Ver- 
 neuil, catching sight of a corner of Madame du Gua's 
 gown, and rising. But the wish to reduce her rival to 
 despair was too strong, and she made no further mo- 
 tion to go. 
 
 ' Do you mean to drive me to hell?" cried the mar- 
 quis, seizing her hand and pressing it violently. 
 
 " Did you not drive me to hell live days ago? are you 
 not leaving me at this very moment uncertain whether 
 your love is sincere or not? " 
 
 ' But how do I know whether your revenge may not 
 lead you to obtain my life to tarnish it, instead of 
 killing me." 
 
 'Ah! you do not love me! you think of yourself 
 and not of me !" she said angriby, shedding a few tears. 
 
 The coquettish creature well knew the power of her 
 eyes when moistened by tears. 
 
 " Well, then," he cried, beside himself, "take my life, 
 but dry those tears." 
 
 ' Oh, my love ! my love ! " she exclaimed in a stifled 
 voice ; ' those are the words, the accents, the looks I 
 have longed for, to allow me to prefer your happi- 
 ness to mine. But," she added, " I ask one more 
 proof of your love, which you say is so great. I wish, 
 to stay here only so long as may be needed to show the 
 company that you are mine. I will not even drink a 
 glass of water in the house of a woman who has twice 
 tried to kill me, who is now, perhaps, plotting mischief 
 against us," and she showed the marquis the floating 
 corner of Madame du Gua's drapery. Then she dried her 
 eyes and put her lips to the ear of the young man. who 
 quivered as he felt the soft caress of her warm breath. 
 k - See that everything is prepared for my departure,"
 
 The Chouans. 299 
 
 she said; "you shall take me yourself to Fougeres and 
 there only will I tell you if I love \ou. For the second 
 time I trust you. Will you trust me a second time?" 
 
 ' Ah, Marie, you have brought me to a point where I 
 know not what I do. I am intoxicated by your words, 
 your looks, by you by }'ou, and I am ready to obey you." 
 
 " Well, then, make me for an instant very hap[rv. 
 
 Let me enjoy the only triumph I desire. I want to 
 
 breathe freely, to drink of the life I have dreamed, to 
 
 feed my illusions before the}' are gone forever. Come 
 
 come into the ballroom and dance with me." 
 
 The}' re-entered the room together, and though Made- 
 moiselle de Yerneuil was as completely satisfied in heart 
 and vanity as any woman ever could be, the unfathom- 
 able gentleness of her eyes, the demure smile on her 
 lips, the rapidity of the motions of a gay dance, kept 
 the secret of her thoughts as the sea swallows those of 
 the criminal who casts a weighted body into its depths. 
 But a murmur of admiration ran through the company 
 as, circling in each other's arms, eye to eye, voluptuously 
 interlaced, with heav}' heads, and dimmed sight, they 
 waltzed with a sort of frenzy, dreaming of the pleasures 
 they hoped to find in a future union. 
 
 A few moments later Mademoiselle de Verneuil 
 and the marquis were in the la tier's travelling- 
 carriage drawn by four horses. Surprised to see 
 these enemies hand in hand, and evidently under- 
 standing each other, Francine kept silence, not daring 
 to ask her mistress whether her conduct was that of 
 treachery or love. Thanks to the darkness, the mar- 
 quis did not observe Mademoiselle de Verneuil's agita- 
 tion as they neared Fougeres. The first Hush of dawn 
 showed the towers of Saint-Leonard in the distance.
 
 300 The Chouans. 
 
 At that moment Marie was sa3ing to herself: " I am 
 going to my death." 
 
 As they ascended the first hill the lovers had the same 
 thought ; they left the carriage and mounted the rise on 
 foot, in memory of their first meeting. When Marie took 
 the young man's arm she thanked him by a smile for 
 respecting her silence ; then, as they reached the summit 
 of the plateau and looked at Fougeres, she threw off her 
 re very. 
 
 " Don't come any farther," she said; " my authority 
 cannot save you from the Blues to-day." 
 
 Montauran showed some surprise. She smiled sadty 
 and pointed to a block of a granite, as if to tell him to 
 sit down, while she herself stood before him in a melan- 
 choly attitude. The rending emotions of her soul no 
 longer permitted her to play a part. At that moment 
 she would have knelt on red-hot coals without feeling 
 them any more than the marquis had felt the fire-brand 
 he had taken in his hand to prove the strength of his 
 passion. It was not until she had contemplated her 
 lover with a look of the deepest anguish that she said 
 to him, at last : 
 
 " All that you have suspected of me is true." 
 
 The marquis started. 
 
 "Ah! I pra}' you," she said, clasping her hands, 
 " listen to me without interruption. I am indeed the 
 daughter of the Due de Verneuil, but his natural 
 daughter. My mother, a Demoiselle de Casteran, who 
 became a nun to escape the reproaches of her family, 
 expiated her fault by fifteen years of sorrow, and died 
 at Seez. where she was abbess. On her death-bed she 
 implored, for the first time and only for me, the help of 
 the man who had betrayed her, for she kucvv she was
 
 The Chouans. 301 
 
 leaving me without friends, without fortune, without a 
 future. The duke accepted the charge, and took me 
 from the roof of Franciue's mother, who had hitherto 
 taken care of me ; perhaps he liked me because I was 
 beautiful ; possibly I reminded him of his youth. He 
 was one of those great lords of the old regime, who 
 took pride in showing how they could get their crimes 
 forgiven by committing them with grace. I will say 
 no more, he was my father. But let me explain to you 
 how 1113* life in Paris injured my soul. The society of 
 the Due de Verneuil, to which he introduced me, was 
 bitten by that scoffing philosophy about which all 
 France was then enthusiastic because it was wittily 
 professed. The brilliant conversations which charmed 
 my ear were marked by subtlety of perception and by 
 witty contempt for all that was true and spiritual. Men 
 laughed at sentiments, and pictured them all the better 
 because they did not feel them ; their satirical epigrams 
 were as fascinating as the light-hearted humor with 
 which the}* could put a whole adventure into a word ; 
 and yet the}' had sometimes too much wit, and wearied 
 women by making love an art, and not a matter of feel- 
 ing. I could not resist the tide. And yet my soul was 
 too ardent forgive this pride not to feel that their 
 minds had withered their hearts ; and the life I led 
 resulted in a perpetual struggle between my natural 
 feelings and beliefs and the vicious habits of mind 
 which I there contracted. Several superior men took 
 pleasure in developing in me that liberty of thought 
 and contempt for public opinion which do tear from a 
 woman her modesty of soul, robbed of which she loses 
 her charm. Alas ! my subsequent misfortunes have 
 tailed to lessen the faults I learned through opulence.
 
 302 The CJionans. 
 
 My father," she continued, with a sigh, u the Due de 
 Verneuil, died, after duly recognizing me as his daughter 
 and making a provision for me by his will, which con- 
 siderably reduced the fortune of my brother, his legiti- 
 mate son. I found myself one day without a home and 
 without a protector. My brother contested the will 
 which made me rich. Three years of my late life had 
 developed my vanity. By satisfying all my fancies my 
 father had created in my nature a need of luxury, and 
 given me habits of self-indulgence of which my own 
 mind, young and artless as it then was, could not per- 
 ceive either the danger or the tyranny. A friend of my 
 father, the Marechal Due de Lenoncourt, then seventy 
 years old, offered to become my guardian, and I found 
 myself, soon after the termination of the odious suit, in 
 a brilliant home, where I enjoyed all the advantages of 
 which my brother's cruelty had deprived me. Every 
 evening the old marechal came to sit with me and com- 
 fort rne with kind and consoling words. His white hair 
 and the many proofs he gave me of paternal tenderness 
 led me to turn all the feelings of my heart upon him, 
 and I felt myself his daughter. I accepted his presents, 
 hiding none of my caprices from him, for I saw how he 
 loved to gratify them. 1 heard one fatal evening that 
 all Paris believed me the mistress of the poor old man. 
 I was told that it was then beyond my power to recover 
 an innocence thus gratuitously denied me. The}' said 
 that the man who had abused my inexperience could 
 not be my lover, and would not be my husband. The 
 week in which I made this horrible discover}' the duke 
 left Paris. I was shamefully ejected from the little 
 house where he had placed me, and which did not 
 belong to him. Up to this point I have told you the
 
 The Chouans. 303 
 
 truth as though I stood before God ; but now, do not 
 ask a wretched woman to give account of sufferings 
 which are buried in her heart. The time came when I 
 found myself married to Danton. A few days later the 
 storm uprooted the mighty oak around which I had 
 thrown my arms. Again I was plunged into the worst 
 distress, and I resolved to kill myself. I don't know 
 whether love of life, or the hope of wearying ill-fortune 
 and of finding at the bottom of the abyss the happiness 
 which had always escaped me were, unconsciously to 
 myself, my advisers, or whether I was fascinated by the 
 arguments of a young man from Vendome, who, for the 
 last two 3'ears, has wound himself about me like a ser- 
 pent round a tree. in short, I know not how it is 
 that I accepted, for a payment of three hundred thou- 
 sand francs, the odious mission of making an unknown 
 man in love with me and then betraying him. I met 
 you ; I knew you at once by one of those presentiments 
 which never mislead us ; }~et I tried to doubt my recog- 
 nition, for the more I came to love you, the more the 
 certainty appalled me. AY hen I saved you from the 
 hands of Ilulot, I abjured the part I had taken ; I re- 
 solved to betray the slaughterers, and not their victim. 
 I did wrong to play with men, with their lives, their 
 principles, with myself, like a thoughtless girl who sees 
 only sentiments in this life. I believed you loved me ; 
 I let myself cling to the hope that my life might begin 
 anew ; but all things have revealed my past, even I 
 myself, perhaps, for you must have distrusted a woman 
 so passionate as you have found me. Alas ! is there 
 no excuse for my love and my deception? My life was 
 like a troubled sleep ; I woke and thought myself a 
 gnl ; I was in Alencon, where all my memories were
 
 304 The Chouans. 
 
 pure and chaste. I had the mad simplicity to think 
 that love would baptize me into innocence. For a 
 moment I thought myself pure, for I had never loved. 
 But last night your passion seemed to me true, and a 
 voice cried to me, ' Do not deceive him.' Monsieur le 
 marquis," she said, in a guttural voice which haughtily 
 challenged condemnation, " know this ; I am a dishon- 
 ored creature, unworthy of you. From this hour I 
 accept my fate as a lost woman. I am weary of play- 
 ing a part, the part of a woman to whom you had 
 brought back the sanctities of her soul. Virtue is a 
 burden to me. I should despise you if }~ou were weak 
 enough to marry me. The Comte de Bauvaii might 
 commit that folly, but you you must be worthy of 
 3'our future and leave me without regret. A courtesan 
 is too exacting ; I should not love you like the simple, 
 artless girl who felt for a moment the delightful hope 
 of being your companion, of making you happy, of 
 doing you honor, of becoming a noble wife. But I 
 gather from that futile hope the courage to return to a 
 life of vice and infamy, that I may put an eternal bar- 
 rier between us. I sacrifice both honor and fortune to 
 you. The pride I take in that sacrifice will support me 
 in mv wretchedness, fate may dispose of me as it will. 
 I will never betray yon. I shall return to Paris. There 
 your name will be to me a part of myself, and the glory 
 you win will console my grief. As for you, you are a 
 man. and you will forget me. Farewell." 
 
 She darted away in the direction of the gorges of 
 Saint-Sulpice, and disappeared before the marquis could 
 rise to detain her. But she came back unseen, hid her- 
 self in a cavity of the rocks, and examined the young 
 man with a curiosity mingled with doubt. Presently
 
 The Chouans. 305 
 
 she saw him walking like a man overwhelmed, without 
 seeming to know where he went. 
 
 "Can he be weak?" she thought, when he had dis- 
 appeared, and she felt she was parted from him. "Will 
 he understand me?" She quivered. Then she turned 
 and went rapidly towards Fougeres, as though she 
 feared the marquis might follow her into the town, 
 where certain death awaited him. 
 
 " Francine, what did he say to you?" she asked, 
 when the faithful girl rejoined her. 
 
 " Ah! Marie, how I pitied him. You great ladies 
 stab a man with your tongues." 
 
 " How did he seem when he eame up to you?" 
 
 " As if he saw me not at all ! Oh, Marie, he loves 
 you ! " 
 
 " Yes, he loves me, or he does not love me there 
 is heaven or hell for me in that," she answered. " Be- 
 tween the two extremes there is no spot where I can 
 set my foot." 
 
 After thus carrying out her resolution, Marie gave 
 way to grief, and her face, beautified till then by 
 these conflicting sentiments, changed for the worse so 
 rapidly that in a single day, during which she floated 
 incessantly between hope and despair, she lost the glow 
 of beauty, and the freshness which has its source in 
 the absence of passion or the ardor of joy. Anxious 
 to ascertain the result of her mad enterprise, II u lot and 
 Corentin came to see her soon after her return. She 
 received them smiling. 
 
 " Well," she said to the commandant, whose care- 
 worn face had a questioning expression, " the fox is 
 coming within range of 3'our guns ; you will soon have 
 a glorious triumph over him." 
 
 20
 
 306 The Chouans. 
 
 " What happened ? " asked Corentin, carelessly, giving 
 Mademoiselle de Verneuil one of those oblique glances 
 with which diplomatists of his class spy on thought. 
 
 "Ah!" she said, '-the Gars is more in love than 
 ever ; I made him come with me to the gates of 
 Fougeres." 
 
 " Your power seems to have stopped there." remarked 
 Corentin ; " the fears of your ci-dccant are greater than 
 the love you inspire." 
 
 " You judge him by j'ourself," she replied, with a 
 contemptuous look. 
 
 "Well, then," said he. unmoved, "why did you not 
 bring him here to your own house?" 
 
 " Commandant.'' she said to Ilulot, with a coaxing- 
 smile, " if he really loves me. would you blame me for 
 saving his life and getting him to leave France?'' 
 
 The old soldier came quickly up to her. took her 
 hand, and kissed it with a sort of enthusiasm. Then he 
 looked at her fixedly and said in a gloomy tone : 
 " You forget my two friends and my sixty-three men.'' 
 
 "Ah, commandant," she cried, with all the naivete of 
 passion, " he was not accountable for that ; he was 
 deceived by a bad woman, Charette's mistress, who 
 would, I do believe, drink the blood of the Blues." 
 
 " Come. Marie," said Corentin, " don't tease the 
 commandant ; he does not understand such jokes." 
 
 " Hold your tongue," she answered, ''and remember 
 that the day when you displease me too much will have 
 no morrow for you." 
 
 " I see. mademoiselle." said Ilulot. without bitter- 
 ness, " that I must prepare for a fight." 
 
 " You are not strong enough, mv dear colonel. T saw 
 more than six thousand men at Saint .; Tames, regular
 
 The Chouans. 307 
 
 troops, artillery, and English officers. But the}- cannot 
 do much unless he leads them? I agree with Fouche, 
 his presence is the head and front of everything." 
 
 "Are we to get his head? that's the point," said 
 Corentin, impatiently. 
 
 "I don't know," she answered, carelessl}'. 
 
 "English officers!" cried Ilulot, angrily, "that's all 
 that was wanting to make a regular brigand of him. 
 Ha ! ha ! I '11 give him English, I will ! " 
 
 "It seems to me, citizen-diplomat," said Ilulot to 
 Corentin, after the two had taken leave and were at 
 some distance from the house, " that you allow that 
 girl to send you to the right-about when she pleases." 
 
 "It is quite natural for you, commandant," replied 
 Coren'nin, with a thoughtful air, "to see nothing but 
 fighting in what she said to us. You soldiers never 
 seem to know there are various ways of making war. 
 To use the passions of men and women like wires to be 
 pulled for the benefit of the State ; to keep the running- 
 gear of the great machine we call government in good 
 order, and fasten to it the desires of human nature, 
 like baited traps which it is fun to watch, I call that 
 creating a world, like God, and putting ourselves at 
 the centre of it ! " 
 
 " You will please allow me to prefer my calling to 
 yours," said the soldier, curtly. " You can do as you 
 like with your running-gear ; I recognize no authority 
 but that of the minister of war. I have my orders ; I 
 shall take the field with veterans who don't skulk, and 
 face an enenvy you want to catch behind." 
 
 " Oh, you can fight if you want to," replied Corentin. 
 " From what that girl has dropped, close-mouthed as 
 you think she is, I can tell you that you'll have to
 
 308 The Chouans. 
 
 skirmish about, and I myself will give you the pleasure 
 of an interview with the Gars before long.'"' 
 
 " How so? " asked Hulot, moving back a step to get 
 a better view of this strange individual. 
 
 "Mademoiselle de Verneuil is in love with him," 
 replied Corentin, in a thick voice, "and perhaps he 
 loves her. A marquis, a knight of Saint-Louis, young, 
 brilliant, perhaps rich. what a list of temptations ! She 
 would be foolish indeed not to look after her own in- 
 terests and try to marry him rather than betray him. 
 The girl is attempting to fool us. But I saw hesitation 
 in her ej'es. They probably have a rendezvous ; per- 
 haps they've met already. Well, to-morrow I shall 
 have him by the forelock. Yesterday he was nothing 
 more than the enemy of the Republic, to-day he is 
 mine ; and I tell you this, even" man who has been so 
 rash as to come between that girl and me has died upon 
 the scaffold." 
 
 So saying, Corentin dropped into a revery which hin- 
 dered him from observing the disgust on the face of the 
 honest soldier as he discovered the depths of this in- 
 trigue, and the mechanism of the means employed by 
 Fouche. Hulot resolved on the spot to thwart Corentin 
 in even* wa} r that did not conflict essentially with the 
 success of the government, and to give the Gars a fair 
 chance of dying honorably, sword in hand, before he 
 could fall a prey to the executioner, for whom this 
 agent of the detective police acknowledged himself the 
 purveyor. 
 
 "If the First Consul would listen to me," thought 
 Hulot, as he turned his back on Corentin, "he would 
 leave those foxes to fight aristocrats, and send his 
 soldiers on other business."
 
 The Chouans. 309 
 
 Corentin looked coldly after the old soldier, whose 
 face had brightened at the resolve, and his eyes gleamed 
 with a sardonic expression, which showed the mental 
 superiority of this subaltern Machiavelli. 
 
 " Give an ell of blue cloth to those fellows, and hang 
 a bit of iron at their waists," he said to himself, " and 
 they '11 think there 's but one way to kill people." 
 Then, after walking up and down awhile very slowly, 
 he exclaimed suddenly, " Yes, the time has come, that 
 woman shall be mine ! For five years I 've been draw- 
 ing the net round her, and I have her now ; with her, 
 I can be a greater man in the government than Fouche 
 himself. Yes, if she loses the only man she has ever 
 loved, grief will give her to me, body and soul ; but I 
 must be on the watch night and day." 
 
 A few moments later the pale face of this man might 
 have been seen through the window of a house, from 
 which he could observe all w'ho entered the cul-de-sac 
 formed by the line of houses running parallel with 
 Saint-Leonard, one of those houses being that now 
 occupied by Mademoiselle do Vcrneuil. With the 
 patience of a cat watching a mouse Corentin was there 
 in the same place on the following morning, attentive to 
 the slightest noise, and subjecting the passers-by to the 
 closest examination. The day that was now beginning 
 was a market day. Although in these calamitous times 
 the peasants rarely risked themselves in the towns, 
 Corentin presently noticed a small man with a gloomy 
 face, wrapped in a goatskin, and carrying on his arm 
 a small flat basket ; he was making his way in the 
 direction of Mademoiselle de Verneuil's house, casting 
 careless glances about him. Corentin watched him 
 enter the house; then he ran down into the street,
 
 310 The Chouans. 
 
 meaning to -waylay the man as he left ; but on second 
 thoughts it occurred to him that if he called unex- 
 pectedly on Mademoiselle de Verueuil he might surprise 
 by a single glance the secret that was hidden in the 
 basket of the emissary. Besides, he had already learned 
 that it was impossible to extract anything from the 
 inscrutable answers of Bretons and Normans. 
 
 " Galope-Chopine ! " cried Mademoiselle de Verneuil, 
 when Francine brought the man to her. " Does he love 
 me?" she murmured to herself, in a low voice. 
 
 The instinctive hope sent a brilliant color to her 
 cheeks and joy into her heart. Galope-Chopine looked 
 alternately from the mistress to the maid with evident 
 distrust of the latter ; but a sign from Mademoiselle de 
 Verneuil reassured him. 
 
 " Madame," he said, " about two o'clock he will be 
 at my house waiting for you." 
 
 Emotion prevented Mademoiselle de Verneuil from 
 giving any other reply than a movement of her head, 
 but the man understood her meaning. At that moment 
 Corentin's step was heard in the adjoining room, but 
 Galope-Chopine showed no uneasiness, though Made- 
 moiselle de Verneuil's look and shudder warned him of 
 danger, and as soon as the sp}~ had entered the room 
 the Chouan raised his voice to an ear-splitting tone. 
 
 " Ha, ha ! " he said to Francine, " I tell you there 's 
 Breton butter and Breton butter. You want the Gibany 
 kind, and you won't give more than eleven sous a pound ; 
 then why did you send me to fetch it? It is good butter 
 that," he added, uncovering the basket to show the pats 
 which Barbette had made. " You ought to be fair, my 
 good lady, and pay one sou more." 
 
 His hollow voice betrayed no emotion, and his green
 
 The Chouans. 311 
 
 eves, shaded by thick gray eyebrows, bore Corentin's 
 piercing glance without flinching. 
 
 " Nonsense, my good man, you are not here to sell 
 butter; you are talking to a lady who never bargained 
 for a thing in her life. The trade you run, old fellow, 
 will shorten you by a head in a very few days ; " and 
 Corentin, with a friendly tap on the man's shoulder, 
 added, "you can't keep up being a spy of the Blues 
 and a spy of the Chouans very long." 
 
 Galope-Chopine needed all his presence of mind to 
 subdue his rage, and not deny the accusation which his 
 avarice had made a just one. He contented himself 
 with saying : 
 
 " Monsieur is making game of me." 
 
 Corentin turned his back on the Chouan, but, while 
 bowing to Mademoiselle de Verneuil, whose heart stood 
 still, he watched him in the mirror behind her. Galope- 
 Chopine, unaware of this, gave a glance at Francine, to 
 which she replied by pointing to the door, and saying, 
 " Come with me, my man, and we will settle the matter 
 between us." 
 
 Nothing escaped Corentin, neither the fear which Ma- 
 demoiselle de Verneuil could not conceal under a smile, 
 nor her color and the contraction of her features, nor 
 the Chouan's sign and Francine's reply ; he had seen 
 all. Convinced that Galope-Chopine was sent by the 
 marquis, he caught the man by the long hairs of his 
 goatskin as he was leaving the room, turned him round 
 to face him, and said with a keen look: "Where do 
 you live, my man? I want butter, too." 
 
 " My good monsieur," said the Chouan. " all Fou- 
 geres knows where I live. I am " 
 
 " Corentin ! " exclaimed Mademoiselle de Verneuil,
 
 312 The Chouans. 
 
 interrupting Ralope-Cbopme. " Why do you come 
 here at this time of day ? I am scarce!}' dressed. Let 
 that peasant alone ; he does not understand your tricks 
 any more than I understand the motive of them. You 
 can go, my man." 
 
 Galope-Chopine hesitated for a moment. The inde- 
 cision, real or feigned, of the poor devil, who knew not 
 which to obey, deceived even Corentin ; but the 
 Chouan, finally, after an imperative gesture from the 
 lad}-, left the room with a dragging stop. Mademoi- 
 selle de Verneuil and Corentin looked at each other in 
 silence. Tin's time Marie's limpid eyes could not en- 
 dure the gleam of cruel fire in the man's look. The 
 resolute manner in which the spy had forced his way 
 into her room, an expression on his face which Marie 
 had never seen there before, the deadened tones of his 
 shrill voice, his whole demeanor, all these things 
 alarmed her ; she felt that a secret struggle was about 
 to take place between them, and that he meant to em- 
 ploy against her all the powers of his evil influence. 
 But though she had at this moment a full and distinct 
 view of the gulf into which she was plunging, she 
 gathered strength from her love to shake off the icy 
 chill of these presentiments. 
 
 "Corentin/' she said, with a sort of gnyety, ' l I hope 
 you are going to let me make my toilet?" 
 
 " Marie/' he said, " yes, permit me to call you so, 
 you don't yet know me. Listen ; a much less saga- 
 cious man than I would see your love for the Marquis de 
 Montauran. I have several times offered von mv heart 
 and hand. You have never thought me worthy of you ; 
 and perhaps you are right. But however much you 
 may feel yourself too high, too beautiful, too superior
 
 The Chouans. C13 
 
 for me, I can compel you to come down to my level. 
 My ambition and my maxims have given you a low 
 opinion of me ; frankly, you are mistaken. Men are 
 not worth even what 1 rate them at, and that is next 
 to nothing. I shall certainty attain a position which will 
 gratify your pride. Who will ever love you better, or 
 make you more absolutely mistress of yourself and of 
 him, than the man who has loved you now for five 
 years? Though I run the risk of exciting your sus- 
 picions, for you cannot conceive that any one should 
 renounce an idolized woman out of excessive love, 
 I will now prove to you the unselfishness of nn* pas- 
 sion. Don't shake your head. If the marquis loves 
 you, many him ; but before you do so, make sure of 
 his sincerity. I could not endure to see 3*011 deceived, 
 for I do prefer your happiness to my own. My resolu- 
 tion may surprise you ; lay it to the prudence of a man 
 who is not so great a fool as to wish to possess a woman 
 against her will. I blame m^yself, not .you, for the fail- 
 ure of my efforts to win you. I hoped to do so by 
 submission and devotion, for I have long, as 3*011 well 
 know, tried to make you happy according to my lights ; 
 but 3*ou have never in any way rewarded me." 
 
 ' I have suffered you to be near me," she said, 
 haughtily. 
 
 ' Add that you regret it." 
 
 " After involving me in this infamous enterprise, do 
 3*ou think that I have aii3* thanks to give 3'ou? " 
 
 " When I proposed to you an enterprise which was 
 not exempt from blame to timid minds,'' he replied, au- 
 daciousty, *' I had onty 3*0111' own prosperity in view. 
 As for me, whether I succeed or fail, I can make all 
 results further my ends. If you marry Montauran, J
 
 314 The CJtouans. 
 
 shall be delighted to serve the Bourbons in Paris, where 
 I am already a member of the Clichy club. Now, if 
 circumstances were to put me in correspondence with 
 the princes I should abandon the interests of the Re- 
 public, which is already on its last legs. General Bona- 
 parte is much too able a man not to know that he can't 
 be in England and in Italy at the same time, and that is 
 how the Republic is about to fall. I have no doubt he 
 made the iMth Brumaire to obtain greater advantage's 
 over the Bourbons when it came to treating with them. 
 lie is a long-headed fellow, and very keen ; but the 
 politicians will get the better of him on their own 
 ground. The betrayal of France is another scruple 
 which men of superiority leave to fools. I won't con- 
 ceal from you that I have come here with the necessary 
 authority to open negotiations with the Chouans, or to 
 further their destruction, as the case may be; for 
 Fouche, my patron, is deep ; he has always played a 
 double part ; during the Terror he was as much for 
 Robespierre as for Danton " 
 
 ' Whom you basely abandoned," she said. 
 
 "Nonsense; he is dead, forget him," replied Co- 
 rentin. " Come, speak honestly to me ; I have set you 
 the example. Old Ilulot is deeper than he looks; if 
 3011 want to escape his vigilance, 1 can help you. Re- 
 member that lie holds all the valleys and will instantly 
 detect a rendezvous. If you make one in Fougeres, 
 under his very eyes, you are at the mercy of his pa- 
 trols. See how quickly he knew that this Chouan had 
 entered your house. His military sagacity will show 
 him that your movements betray tho.-.e of the Gars 
 if Montauran loves you.'' 
 
 Mademoiselle de Verneuil had never listened to a
 
 The Chouans. 315 
 
 more affectionate voice ; Corentin certainly seemed sin- 
 cere, and spoke confidingly. The poor girl's heart was 
 so open to generous impressions that she was on the 
 point of betraying her secret to the serpent who had 
 her in his folds, when it occurred to her that she had 
 no proof be3'ond his own words of his sincerit}', and 
 she felt no scruple in blinding him. 
 
 "Yes," she said, "you are right, Corentin. I do 
 love the marquis, but he does not love me at least, I 
 fear so ; I can't help fearing that the appointment he 
 wishes me to make witli him is a trap." 
 
 "But you said yesterday that he came as far as 
 Fougeres with you," returned Corentin. " If he had 
 meant to do you bodily harm you would n't be here 
 now." 
 
 "You've a cold heart, Corentin. You can draw 
 shrewd conclusions as to the ordinary events of human 
 life, but not on those of a passion. Perhaps that is 
 why you inspire me with such repulsion. As you are 
 so clear-sighted, you may be able to tell me why a man 
 from whom I separated myself violently two days ago 
 now wishes me to meet him in a house at Florigny on 
 the road to Mayenne." 
 
 At this avowal, which seemed to escape her with a 
 recklessness that was not unnatural in so passionate a 
 creature, Corentin flushed, for he was still young ; but 
 he gave her a sidelong penetrating look, trying to 
 search her soul. The girl's artlessness was so well 
 played, however, that she deceived the spy, and he an- 
 swered with crafty good-humor, " Shall I accompany 
 you at a distance? I can take a few soldiers with me, 
 and be ready to help and obey 3'ou." 
 
 "Very good," she said; "but promise me, on your
 
 316 The Chouans. 
 
 honor, no, I don't believe in it; b}' your salvation, 
 but you don't believe in God ; by your soul, but I 
 don't suppose you have any ! what pledge can you give 
 me of your fidelity ? and yet you expect me to trust 
 you, and put more than my life my love, my ven- 
 geance into your hands." 
 
 The slight smile which crossed the pallid lips of the 
 sp}' showed Mademoiselle de Verneuil the danger she 
 had just escaped. The man, whose nostrils contracted 
 instead of dilating, took the hand of his victim, kissed 
 it with every mark of the deepest respect, and left the 
 room with a bow that was not devoid of grace. 
 
 Three hours after this scene Mademoiselle de Ver- 
 neuil, who feared the man's return, left the town fur- 
 tively by the Porte Saint-Leonard, and made her way 
 through the labyrinth of paths to the cottage of Galope- 
 Chopine, led by the dream of at last finding happiness, 
 and also by the purpose of saving her lover from the 
 danger that threatened him. 
 
 During this time Corentin had gone to find the com- 
 mandant. He had some difficulty in recognizing Ilulot 
 when he found him in a little square, where he was busy 
 with certain military preparations. The brave veteran 
 had made a sacrifice, the full merit of which it may be 
 difficult to appreciate. His queue and his moustache 
 were cut off, and his hair had a sprinkling of powder. 
 lie had changed his uniform for a goatskin, wore hob- 
 nailed shoes, a belt full of pistols, and carried a heavy 
 carbine. In this costume lie was reviewing about two 
 hundred of the natives of Fougeres, all in the same kind 
 of dress, which was fitted to deceive the eye of the most 
 practised Chouan. The warlike spirit of the little town 
 and the Breton character were fully displayed in tin's
 
 The Clwuans. 317 
 
 scene, which was not at all uncommon. Here and 
 there a lew mothers and sisters were bringing to their 
 sons and brothers gourds tilled with brand}', or for- 
 gotten pistols. Several old men were examining into 
 the number and condition of the cartridges of these 
 young national guards dressed in the guise of Chouans, 
 whose gayety was more in keeping with a hunting ex- 
 pedition than the dangerous duty they were under- 
 taking. To them, such encounters with Chouannerie, 
 where the Breton of the town fought the Breton of the 
 country district, had taken the place of the old chiv- 
 alric tournaments. This patriotic enthusiasm may pos- 
 sibly have been connected with certain purchases of the 
 " national domain." Still, the benefits of the Revolu- 
 tion which were better understood and appreciated in 
 the towns, party spirit, and a certain national delight 
 in war, had a great deal to do with their ardor. 
 
 Hulot, much gratified, was going through the ranks 
 and getting information from Gudiu, on whom he was 
 now bestowing the confidence and good-will he had 
 formerly shown to Merle and Gerard. A number of 
 the inhabitants stood about watching the preparations, 
 and comparing the conduct of their tumultuous contin- 
 gent with the regulars of Hulot's brigade. Motionless 
 and silent the Blues were awaiting, under control of 
 their officers, the orders of the commandant, whose 
 figure they followed with their e}'es as he passed from 
 rank to rank of the contingent. When Corentin came 
 near the old warrior he could not help smiling at the 
 change which had taken place in him. Pie looked like 
 a portrait that has little or no resemblance to the 
 original. 
 
 " What's all this?" asked Corentin.
 
 318 The CJtouans. 
 
 " Come with us under fire, and you '11 find out," 
 replied Hulot. 
 
 ' Oil ! I 'in not a Fcugeres man," said Corentin. 
 
 "Easy to see that, citizen," retorted Gudin. 
 
 A few contemptuous laughs came from the nearest 
 ranks. 
 
 "Do you think,''' said Corentin. sharply, "that the 
 only way to serve France is with bayonets?" 
 
 Then he turned his back to the laughers, and asked 
 a woman beside him if she knew the object of tho 
 expedition. 
 
 " Hey ! my good man, the Cliouans are at Florigny. 
 They say there are more than three thousand, and thej 
 are coming to take Fongeres." 
 
 "Florigny?" cried Corentin, turning white ; "then 
 the rendezvous is not there ! Is Florigny on the road 
 to Mayenne?" lie asked. 
 
 " There are not two Florignys," replied the woman, 
 pointing in the direction of the summit of La Pelerine. 
 
 "Are 3'ou going in search of the Marquis de Mon- 
 tauran?" said Corentin to Ilulot. 
 
 " Perhaps I am," answered the commandant, curtly. 
 
 "lie is not at Florigny,''' said Corenlin. "Send your 
 troops there by all means ; but keep a few of those 
 imitation Chouans of yours with you, and wait for me." 
 
 " lie is too malignant not to know what he 's 
 about," thought Ilulot as Corentin made off rapidly, 
 " he 's the king of spies/' 
 
 Ilulot ordered the battalion to start. The republican 
 soldiers marched without drums and silently though the 
 narrow suburb which led to the 3Iaycnne high-road, 
 forming a blue and red line among the trees and 
 houses. The disguised guard followed them ; but
 
 The Chouans. 319 
 
 Hulot, detaining Gudin and about a score of the smart- 
 est young fellows of the town, remained in the little 
 square, awaiting Corentin, whose mysterious manner 
 had piqued his curiosity. Fraucine herself told the 
 astute spy, whose suspicions she changed into certainty, 
 of her mistress's departure. Inquiring of the post guard 
 at the Porte Saint-Leonard, he learned that Mademoi- 
 selle de Verneuil had passed that way. Rushing to the 
 Promenade, he was, unfortunately, in time to see her 
 movements. Though she was wearing a green dress 
 and hood, to be less easily distinguished, the rapidity 
 of her almost distracted step enabled him to follow 
 her with his eye through the leafless hedges, and to 
 guess the point towards which she was hurrying. 
 
 " Ha ! " he cried, " you said you were going to Flo- 
 rigny, but you are in the valley of GibaiTy ! I am a 
 fool, she has tricked me ! No matter, I can light my 
 lamp by da}- as well as by night." 
 
 Corentin, satisfied that he knew the place of the 
 lovers' rendezvous, returned in all haste to the little 
 square, which Ilulot, resolved not to wait an}* longer, 
 was just quitting to rejoin his troops. 
 
 " Halt, general ! " he cried to the commandant, who 
 turned round. 
 
 He then told Ilulot the events relating to the marquis 
 and Mademoiselle de Verneuil, and showed him the 
 scheme of which he held a thread. Ilulot, struck by his 
 perspicacity, seized him by the arm. 
 
 " God's thunder ! citizen, you are right," he cried. 
 " The brigands are making a false attack over there to 
 keep the coast clear ; but the two columns I sent to 
 scour the environs between Antrain and Vitre have not 
 yet returned, so we shall have plenty of reinforcements
 
 320 The Chouans. 
 
 if we need them ; and I dare say we shall, for the Gars 
 is not such a fool as to risk his life without a bo<ly- 
 gnarcl of those damned owls. Gudin," he added, "go 
 and tell Captain Lebrun that he must rub those fellows' 
 noses at Florigny without me, and come back 3'oursclf 
 in a flash. You know the paths. I '11 wait till you 
 return, and then we'll avenge those murders at La 
 Vivetiere. Thunder! how he runs," lie added, seeing 
 Gudin disappear as if by magic. " Gerard would have 
 loved him." 
 
 On his return Gudin found Ilulot's little band in- 
 creased in numbers by the arrival of several soldiers 
 taken from the various posts in the town. The com- 
 mandant ordered him to choose a dozen of his compa- 
 triots who could best counterfeit the Chouans, and take 
 them out by the Porte Saint-Leonard, so as to creep round 
 the side of the Saint-Sulpice rocks which overlooks the 
 valle}" of Couesnon and on which was the hovel of Ga- 
 lope-Chopine. Hulot himself went out with the rest of 
 his troop by the Porte Saint-Sulpice, to reach the sum- 
 mit of the same rocks, where, according to his calcula- 
 tions, he ought to meet the men under Beau-Pied, wlrom 
 lie meant to use as a line of sentinels from the suburb 
 of Saint-Sulpice to the Nid-aux-Crocs. 
 
 Corentin, satisfied with having delivered over the fate 
 of the Gars to his implacable enemies, went with all 
 speed to the Promenad ', so as to follow with his eyes 
 the military arrangements of the commandant. He 
 soon saw Gudin's little squad issuing from the val- 
 ley of the Xancon and following the line of the rocks 
 to the great valley, while Ilulot, creeping round the 
 castle of Fougercs, was mounting the dangerous path 
 which leads to the summit, of Saint-Sulpice. The two
 
 The Chouana, 321 
 
 companies were therefore advancing on parallel lines. 
 The trees and shrubs, draped by the rich arabesques 
 of the hoarfrost, threw whitish reflections which enabled 
 the watcher to see the gray lines of the squads in mo- 
 tion. When Hulot reached the summit of the rocks, 
 he detached all the soldiers in uniform from his main 
 body, and made them into a line of sentinels, each com- 
 municating with the oilier, the first with Guclin, the last 
 with Hulot ; so that no shrub could escape the bayonets 
 of the three lines which were now in a position to hunt 
 the Gars across field and mountain. 
 
 " The si}' old wolf!" thought Corentin, as the shining 
 muzzle of the last gun disappeared in the bushes. " The 
 Gars is done for. If Marie had only betrayed that 
 damned marquis, she and I would have been united in 
 the strongest of all bonds a vile deed. But she's 
 mine, in any case." 
 
 The twelve young men under Gudin soon reached the 
 base of the rocks of Saint-Sulpice. Here Gudin him- 
 self left the road with six of them, jumping the stiff 
 hedge into the first field of gorse that he came to, while 
 the other six by his orders did the same on the other 
 side of the road. Gudin advanced to an apple-tree 
 which happened to be in the middle of the field. Hear- 
 ing the rustle of this movement through the gorse, seven 
 or eight men, at the head of whom w r as Beau-Pied, 
 hastily hid behind some chestnut-trees which topped 
 the bank of this particular field. Gudin's men did not 
 see them, in spite of the white reflections of the hoar- 
 frost and their own practised sight. 
 
 "Hush! here the}* are," said Beau-Pied, cautiously 
 putting out his head. ' The brigands have more men 
 than we, but we have 'em at the muzzles of our guns, 
 
 21
 
 322 Tie Chouans. 
 
 and we mustn't miss them, or, by the Lord, we are not 
 fit to be soldiers of the pope." 
 
 By this time Gudin's keen eyes had discovered a few 
 muzzles pointing through the branches at his little squad. 
 Just then eight voices cried in derision, " Qui vive ? " and 
 eight shots followed. The balls whistled round Gudin 
 and his men. One fell, another was shot in the arm. 
 The five others who were safe and sound replied with 
 a volley and the cry, " Friends ! " Then they marched 
 rapid!}* on their assailants so as to reach them before 
 they had time to reload. 
 
 " We did not know how true we spoke," cried Gudin. 
 as he recognized the uniforms and the battered hats of 
 his own brigade. '' Well, we behaved like Bretons, and 
 fonght before explaining." 
 
 The other men were stupefied on recognizing the 
 little company. 
 
 " Who the devil would have known them in those 
 goatskins?" cried Bean-Tied, dismally. 
 
 "It is a misfortune," said Gudin, "but we are all 
 innocent if you were not informed of the sortie. What 
 are }'ou doing here ? " he asked. 
 
 "A dozen of those Chouans are amusing themselves 
 by picking us off, and we are getting away as best we 
 can, like poisoned rats ; but by dint of scrambling over 
 these hedges and rocks ma}- the lightning blast 'em ! 
 our compasses have got so rusty we are forced to take 
 a rest. I think those brigands are now somewhere near 
 the old hovel where you see that smoke." 
 
 " Good ! '' cried Gudin. " You," he added to Beau- 
 Pied and his men, "fall back towards the rocks through 
 the fields, and join the line of sentinels you '11 find there. 
 You can't go with us, because you are in uniform. We
 
 The Chouans. 323 
 
 mean to make an end of those curs now ; the Gars is 
 with them. I can't stop to tell you more. To the right, 
 march ! and don't administer any more shots to our own 
 goatskins ; you '11 know ours by their cravats, which 
 they twist round their necks and don't tie." 
 
 Gudin left his two wounded men under the apple- 
 tree, and marched towards Galope-Chopine's cottage, 
 which Beau-Pied had pointed out to him, the smoke 
 from the chimney serving as a guide. 
 
 While the young officer was thus closing in upon the 
 Chouans. the little detachment under Hulot had reached 
 a point still parallel with that at which Gudin had 
 arrived. The old soldier, at the head of his men, was 
 silently gliding along the hedges with the ardor of a 
 3'oung man ; he jumped them from time to time actively 
 enough, casting his wary eyes to the heights and listen- 
 ing with the ear of a hunter to every noise. In the third 
 field to which he came to he found a woman about thirty 
 years old, with bent back, hoeing the ground vigorously, 
 while a small boy with a sickle in his hand was knock- 
 ing the hoarfrost from the rushes, which he cut and 
 laid in a heap. At the noise Ilulot made in jumping 
 the hedge, the boy and his mother raised their heads. 
 Hulot mistook the young woman for an old one, natur- 
 ally enough. Wrinkles, coming long before their time, 
 furrowed her face and neck ; she was clothed so 
 grotesquely in a worn-out goatskin that if it had not 
 been for a dirty yellow petticoat, a distinctive mark of 
 sex, Ilulot would hardly have known the gender she 
 belonged to ; for the meshes of her long black hair were 
 twisted up and hidden by a red worsted cap. The 
 tatters of the little boy did not cover him. but left his 
 skin exposed.
 
 324 The Chouans. 
 
 "Ho! old woman!" called Hulot, in a low voice, 
 approaching her, " where is the Gars? " 
 
 The twenty men who accompanied Hulot now jumped 
 the hedge. 
 
 " Hey ! if you want the Gars you '11 have to go back 
 the wa}" }"ou came," said the woman, with a suspicious 
 glance at the troop. 
 
 " Did I ask you the road to Fougeres, old carcass? " 
 said Ilulot. roughly. " By Saint-Anne of Auray, have 
 you seen the Gars go by?" 
 
 "I don't know what you mean," replied the woman, 
 bending over her hoe. 
 
 " You damned garce, do you want to have us eaten 
 up by the Blues who are after us? " 
 
 At these words the woman raised her head and gave 
 another look of distrust at the troop as she replied, 
 " How can the Blues be after you? I have just seen 
 eight or ten of them who were going back to Fougeres 
 by the lower road." 
 
 "One would think she meant to stab us with that 
 nose of hers ! " cried Hulot. " Here, look, you old 
 nanny-goat ! " 
 
 And he showed her in the distance three or four of 
 his sentinels, whose hats, guns, and uniforms it was 
 easy to recognize. 
 
 "Are you going to let those fellows cut the throats 
 of men who are sent by Marche-a-Terre to protect the 
 Gars?" he cried, angrily. 
 
 "Ah, beg pardon," said the woman; "but it is so 
 easy to be deceived. "\Vhat parish do you belong to?" 
 
 " Saint-Georges," replied two or three of the men, in 
 the Breton patois, ' and we are dying of hunger." 
 
 "Well, there," said the woman; "do you see that
 
 The Chouans. 325 
 
 smoke down there ? that 's my house. Follow the path 
 to the right, and you will come to the rook above it. 
 Perhaps you '11 meet my man on the way. Galope- 
 Chopine is sure to be on the watch to warn the Gars. 
 He is spending the day in our house," she said, proudly, 
 " as you seem to know." 
 
 " Thank you, my good woman," replied Hulot. 
 " Forward, march ! God's thunder ! we 've got him," 
 he added, speaking to his men. 
 
 The detachment followed its leader at a quick step 
 through the path pointed out to them. The wife of Galope- 
 Chopine turned pale as she heard the un Catholic oath 
 of the so-called Chouan. She looked at the gaiters and 
 goatskins of his men, then she caught her boy in her 
 arms, and sat down on the ground, saying, " May the 
 hoi}' Virgin of An ray and the ever blessed Saint-Labre 
 have pity upon us ! Those men are not ours ; their 
 shoes have no nails in them. Run down by the lower 
 road and warn your father ; you ma}' save his head," 
 she said to the boy, who disappeared like a deer among 
 the bushes. 
 
 Mademoiselle de Verneuil met no one on her way, 
 neither Blues nor Chouans. Seeing the column of blue 
 smoke which was rising from the half-ruined chimney 
 of Galope-Chopine's melancholy dwelling, her heart was 
 seized with a violent palpitation, the rapid, sonorous 
 beating of which rose to her throat in waves. She 
 stopped, rested her hand against a tree, and watched 
 the smoke which was serving as a beacon to the foes as 
 well as to the friends of the young chieftain. Never 
 had she felt such overwhelming emotion. 
 
 " Ah ! I love him too much," she said, with a sort of
 
 326 The Chouans. 
 
 despair. " To-day, perhaps, I shall no longer be mis- 
 tress of myself " 
 
 She hurried over the distance which separated her 
 from the cottage, and reached the courtyard, the filth of 
 which was now stiffened by the frost. The big dog 
 sprang up barking, but a word from Galope-Chopine 
 silenced him and he wagged his tail. As she entered 
 the house Marie gave a look which included everything. 
 The marquis was not there. She breathed more freely, 
 and saw with pleasure that the Chouan had taken some 
 pains to clean the dirt}' and only room in his hovel. 
 He now took his duck-gun, bowed silently to his guest 
 and left the house, followed by his dog. Marie went to 
 the threshold of the door and watched him as he took 
 the path to the right of his hut. From there she 
 could overlook a series of fields, the curious openings 
 to which formed a perspective of gates ; for the leafless 
 trees and hedges were no longer a barrier to a full view 
 of the country. AVhen the Chouan's broad hat was out 
 of sight Mademoiselle de Verneuil turned round to look 
 for the church at Foug'Tes, but the shed concealed it. 
 She cast her eyes over the valley of the Couesnon, which 
 lay before her like a vast sheet of muslin, the white- 
 ness of which still further dulled a gray sky laden with 
 snow. It was one of those da}'s when nature seems 
 dumb and noises are absorbed by the atmosphere. 
 Therefore, though the Blues and their contingent were 
 marching through the country in three lines, forming 
 a triangle which drew together as they neared the cot- 
 tage, the silence was so profound that Mademoiselle de 
 Verneuil was overcome by a presentiment which added 
 a sort of physical pain to her mental torture. Misfor- 
 tune was in the air.
 
 The CJiouans. 327 
 
 At last, in a spot where a little curtain of wood closed 
 the perspective of gates, she saw a young man jumping 
 the barriers like a squirrel and running with astonishing 
 rapidity. ' It is lie ! " she" thought. 
 
 The Gars was dressed as a Chouan, with a musket 
 slung from his shoulder over his goatskin, and would 
 have been quite disguised were it not for the grace 
 of his movements. Marie withdrew hastily into the 
 cottage, obeying one of those instinctive promptings 
 which are as little explicable as fear itself. The 
 young man was soon beside her before the chimne}', 
 where a bright fire was burning. Both were voiceless, 
 fearing to look at each other, or even to make a move- 
 ment. One and the same hope united them, the same 
 doubt : it was agony, it was joy. 
 
 'Monsieur," said Mademoiselle de Verneuil at last, 
 in a trembling voice, k ' }'our safet}' alone has brought 
 me here." 
 
 " My safet}- ! " he said, bitterly. 
 
 " Yes." she answered ; "so long as I star at Fou- 
 geres your life is threatened, and I love you too well 
 not to leave it. I go to-night." 
 
 " Leave me ! ah, dear love. I shall follow you." 
 
 " Follow me! the Blues? " 
 
 " Dear Marie, what have the Blues to do with our 
 love?" 
 
 " But it seems impossible that you can stay with me 
 in France, and still more impossible that 3-011 should 
 leave it with me." 
 
 ' Is there anything impossible to those who love?" 
 
 "Ah, true! true! all is possible have I not the 
 courage to resign you. for your sake." 
 
 " What! you could give yourself to a hateful being
 
 328 The Cliouans. 
 
 whom you did not love, and you refuse to make the hap- 
 piness of a, man who adores you, whose life you fill, 
 who swears to be 3'ours, and yours only. Hear me, 
 Marie, do you love me?" 
 
 " Yes," she said. 
 
 k ' Then be mine." 
 
 " You forget the infamous career of a lost woman ; I 
 return to it, I leave you yes, that I may not bring 
 upon your head the contempt that falls on mine. With- 
 out that fear, perhaps " 
 
 " But if I fear nothing?" 
 
 "Can I be sure of that? I am distrustful. Who 
 could be otherwise in a position like mine? If the 
 love we inspire cannot last at least it should be com- 
 plete, and help us to bear with joy the injustice of the 
 world. But you, what have you done for me? You 
 desire me. Do you think that lifts you above other 
 men? Suppose I bade you renounce your ideas, your 
 hopes, your king (who will, perhaps, laugh when he 
 hears you have died for him, while- I would die for 
 you with sacred joy!) ; or suppose I should ask you 
 to send your submission to the First Consul so that 
 you could follow me to Paris, or go with me to 
 America, away from the world where all is vanity ; 
 suppose I thus tested you, to know if you loved me fur 
 myself as at this moment I love you? To say all in 
 a won], if I wished, instead of rising to your level, that 
 3"ou should fall to mine, what would you do?" 
 
 " Hush. Marie, be silent, do not slander yourself," 
 he cried. " Poor child. I comprehend you. If my first 
 desire was passion, my passion now is love. Dear soul 
 of my soul, }'ou are as noble as your name, I know it, 
 as great as you are beautiful. I am noble enough, I
 
 The Chouans. 829 
 
 feel myself great enough to force the world to receive 
 you. Is it because I foresee in you the source of endless, 
 incessant pleasure, or because 1 find in your soul those 
 precious qualities which make a man forever love the 
 one woman? I do not know the cause, but this I 
 know that my love for you is boundless. I know I 
 can no longer live without you. Yes, life would be 
 unbearable unless you are ever with me." 
 
 " Ever with you ! " 
 
 " Ah ! Marie, will 3*011 not understand me? " 
 
 " You think to flatter me by the oft'er of your hand 
 and name," she said, with apparent haughtiness, but 
 looking fixedly at the marquis as if to detect his inmost 
 thought. " How do you know you would love me six 
 months hence? and then what would be my fate? No, 
 a mistress is the only woman who is sure of a man's 
 heart ; duty, law, society, the interests of children, are 
 poor auxiliaries. If her power lasts it gives her joys 
 and flatteries which make the trials of life endurable. 
 But to be 3'our wife and become a drag upon you, 
 rather than that, I prefer a passing love and a true one, 
 though death and misery be its end. Yes, I could be 
 a virtuous mother, a devoted wife ; but to keep those 
 instincts firmly in a woman's soul the man must not 
 many her in a rush of passion. Besides, how do I know 
 that you will please me to-morrow ? Xo, I will not bring 
 evil upon you ; I leave Brittairy," she said, observing 
 hesitation in his eyes. " I return to Fougeres now, 
 where you cannot come to me " 
 
 " I can ! and if to-morrow you see smoke on the 
 rocks of Saint-Sulpice you will know, that I shall be 
 with you at night, your lover, your husband, what 
 you will that 1 be to you ; I brave all ! "
 
 330 The Chouans. 
 
 " Ah ! Alphonse, you love me well," she said, pas- 
 sionately, li to risk your life before you give it to ma" 
 
 He did not answer ; he looked at her and her eyes 
 fell ; but he read in her ardent faee a passion equal to 
 his own, and he held out his arms to her. A sort of 
 madness overcame her, and she let herself fall softly 
 on his breast, resolved to yield to him, and turn this 
 yielding to great results, staking upon it her future 
 happiness, which would become more certain if she came 
 victorious from this crucial test. But her head had 
 scarcely touched her lover's shoulder when a slight 
 noise was heard without. She tore herself from his 
 arms as if suddenly awakened, and sprang from the 
 cottage. Her coolness came back to her, and she 
 thought of the situation. 
 
 ' k lie might have accepted me and scorned me," she 
 reflected. "Ah! -if I could think that, I would kill 
 him. But not yet ! " she added, catching sight of Beau- 
 Pied, to whom she made a sign which the soldier was 
 quick to understand. He turned on his heel, pretending 
 to have seen nothing. Mademoiselle de Verneuil re- 
 entered the cottage, putting her finger to her lips to 
 enjoin silence. 
 
 " They are there ! " she whispered in a frightened 
 voice. 
 
 " Who?" 
 
 " The Blues." 
 
 " Ah ! must I die without one kiss ! " 
 
 " Take it," she said. 
 
 He caught her to him, cold and unresisting, and gath- 
 ered from her lips a kiss of horror and of joy, for while 
 it was the first, it might also be the last. Then the}" went 
 together to the door and looked cautiously out. The
 
 The Chouans. 331 
 
 marquis saw Gudin and his men holding the paths lead- 
 ing to the valley. Then he turned to the line of gates 
 where the first rotten trunk was guarded by five men. 
 "Without an instant's pause, he jumped on the barrel of 
 cider and struck a hole through the thatch of the roof, 
 from which to spring upon the rocks behind the house ; 
 but he drew his head hastil}' back through the gap he had 
 made, for Ilulot was on the height ; his retreat was cut 
 off in that direction. The marquis turned and looked 
 at his mistress, who uttered a cry of despair ; for she 
 heard the tramp of the three detachments near the house. 
 
 " Go out first," he said ; " you shall save me." 
 
 Hearing the words, to her all-glorious, she went out 
 and stood before the door. The marquis loaded his 
 musket. Measuring with his eye the space between the 
 door of the hut and the old rotten trunk where seven 
 men stood, the Gars fired into their midst and sprang 
 forward instantly, forcing a passage through them. The 
 three troops rushed towards the opening through which 
 he had passed, and saw him running across the field 
 with incredible celerity. 
 
 " Fire ! fire ! a thousand devils ! You 're not French- 
 men ! Fire, I say ! " called Ilulot. 
 
 As he shouted these words from the height aboTe, 
 his men and Gudin's fired a volley, which was fortu- 
 nately ill-aimed. The marquis reached the gate of the 
 next field, but as he did so he was almost caught by 
 Gudin, who was close upon his heels. The Gars re- 
 doubled his speed. Nevertheless, he and his pursuer 
 reached the next barrier together ; but the marquis 
 dashed his musket at Gudin's head with so good an 
 aim that he stopped his rush. It is impossible to de- 
 pict the anxiety betrayed by Marie, or the interest of
 
 332 The Chouans. 
 
 Hulot and his troops as they watched the scene. They 
 all, unconsciously and silently, repeated the gestures 
 which they saw the runners making. The Gars and 
 Gudin reached the little wood together, but as they did 
 so the latter stopped and darted behind a tree. About 
 twenty Chouans, afraid to (ire at a distance lest they 
 should kill their leader, rushed from the copse and rid- 
 dled the tree with balls. Ilulot's men advanced at a 
 run to save Gudin, who, being without arms, retreated 
 from tree to tree, seizing his opportunity as the Chouans 
 reloaded. His danger was soon over. Hulot and the 
 Blues met him at the spot where the marquis had 
 thrown his musket. At this instant Gudin perceived 
 his adversary sitting among the trees and out of breath, 
 and he left his comrades firing at the Chouans, who had 
 retreated behind a lateral hedge ; slipping round them, 
 he darted towards the marquis with the agility of a 
 wild animal. Observing this manoeuvre the Chouans 
 set up a cry to warn their leader; then, having fired on 
 the Blues and their contingent with the gusto of 
 poachers, they boldly made a rush for them ; but IIu- 
 lot's men sprang through the hedge which served them 
 as a rampart and took a bloody revenge. The Chouans 
 then gained the road which skirted the fields and took 
 to the heights which Hulot had committed the blunder 
 of abandoning. Before the Blues had time to reform, 
 the Chouans were entrenched behind the rocks, where 
 they could fire with impunity on the Republicans if the 
 latter m;ule any attempt to dislodge them. 
 
 AVhilo Hulot and his soldiers went slowly towards the 
 little wood to meet Gudin. the men from Fougeres 
 busied themselves in rifling the dead Chouans and dis- 
 patching those who still lived. In this fearful war
 
 The Chouans. 333 
 
 neither part}' took prisoners. The marquis having made 
 good his escape, the Chouans and the Blues mutually 
 recognized their respective positions and the useless- 
 ness of continuing the fight ; so that both sides pre- 
 pared to retreat. 
 
 "Ha! ha!" cried one of the Fougeres men, busy 
 about the bodies, " here 's a bird with yellow wings." 
 
 And he showed his companions a purse full of gold 
 which he had just found in the pocket of a stout man 
 dressed in black. 
 
 "What's this?" said another, pulling a breviary 
 from the dead man's coat. 
 
 "Communion bread he's a priest!" cried the 
 first man, flinging the breviary on the ground. 
 
 " Here 's a wretch ! " cried a third, finding only two 
 crowns in the pockets of the body he was stripping, " a 
 cheat ! " 
 
 " But he 's got a fine pair of shoes ! " said a soldier, be- 
 ginning to pull them oil'. 
 
 " You can't have thorn unless they fall to your 
 share," said the Fougeres man, dragging the dead feet 
 away and Hinging the boots on a heap of clothing al- 
 ready collected. 
 
 Another Chouan took charge of the money, so that 
 lots might be drawn as soon as the troops were all as- 
 sembled. When Ilulot returned with Gudin, whose 
 last attempt to overtake the Gars was useless as well 
 as perilous, he found about a score of his o\vn men and 
 thirty of the contingent standing around eleven of the 
 enemy, whose naked bodies were thrown into a ditch at 
 the foot of the bank. 
 
 " Soldiers ! " cried Ilulot, sternly. " I forbid you to 
 share that clothing. Form in line, quick!"
 
 334 The Chouans. 
 
 " Commandant," said a soldier, pointing to his shoes, 
 at the points of which five bare toes could be seen on 
 each foot, k ' all right about the money, but those 
 boots," motioning to a pair of hob-nailed shoes with the 
 butt of his gun, " would fit me like a glove." 
 
 " Do you want to put English shoes on your feet?" 
 retorted Hulot. 
 
 " But," said one of the Fougeres men, respectfully, 
 " we 've divided the booty all through the war." 
 
 "I don't prevent you civilians from following your 
 own wa3~s," replied Hulot, roughly. 
 
 " Here, Gudin, here's a purse with three louis," said 
 the otticer who was distributing the money. " You 
 have run hard and the commandant won't prevent }"our 
 taking it." 
 
 Hulot looked askance at Gudin, and saw that he 
 turned pale. 
 
 k ' It 's my uncle's purse ! " exclaimed the young man. 
 
 Exhausted as he was with his run, he sprang to 
 the mound of bodies, and the first that met his eyes 
 was that of his uncle. But he had hardly recognized 
 the rubicund face now furrowed with blue lines, and 
 seen the stiffened arms and the gunshot wound before 
 he gave a stifled cry, exclaiming, ' k Let us be off, 
 commandant." 
 
 The Blues started. Hulot gave his arm to his young 
 friend. 
 
 " God's thunder! " he cried. "Never mind, it is no 
 great matter." 
 
 " But he is dead." said Gudin, " dead ! He was my 
 only relation, and though he cursed me, still he loved 
 me. If the king returns, the neighborhood will want 
 my head, and my poor uncle would have saved it."
 
 The Chouans. 335 
 
 "What a fool Gudin is," said one of the men who 
 had stayed behind to share the spoils; " his uncle was 
 rich, and he has n't had time to make a will and disin- 
 herit him.'' 
 
 The division over, the men of Fougeres rejoined the 
 little battalion of the Blues on their way to the town. 
 
 Towards midnight the cottage of Galope-Chopine, 
 hitherto the scene of life without a care, was full of 
 dread and horrible anxiety. Barbette and her little 
 boy returned at the supper-hour, one with her heavy 
 burden of rushes, the other carrying fodder for the 
 cattle. Entering the hut, they looked about in vain for 
 Galope-Chopine ; the miserable chamber never looked to 
 them as large, so empty was it. The fire was out, and 
 the darkness, the silence, seemed to tell of some dis- 
 aster. Barbette hastened to make a blaze, and to 
 light two oribus, the name given to candles made of 
 pitch in the region between the villages of Amorique 
 and the Upper Loire, and still used beyond Amboise in 
 the Vendomois districts. Barbette did these things with 
 the slowness of a person absorbed by one overpowering 
 feeling. She listened to eveiy sound. Deceived by 
 the whistling of the wind she went often to the door of 
 the hut, returning sadly. She cleaned two beakers, 
 filled them with cider, and placed them on the long 
 table. Now and again she looked at her boy, who 
 watched the baking of the buckwheat cakes, but did 
 not speak to him. The lad's eyes happened to rest on 
 the nails which usually held his father's duck-gun, and 
 Barbette trembled as she noticed that the gun was gone. 
 The silence was broken only by the lowing of a cow or 
 the splash of the cider as it dropped at regular intervals
 
 336 The Chouans. 
 
 from the hung of the cask. The poor woman sighed 
 while she poured into three hrown earthenware porrin- 
 gers a sort of soup made of milk, hiseuit broken into 
 bits, and boiled chestnuts. 
 
 li They must have fought in the field next to the 
 Berandiere," said the boy. 
 
 ' ; Go and see," replied his mother. 
 
 The child ran to the place where the fighting had, as 
 he said, taken place. In the moonlight he found the 
 heap of bodies, but his father was not among them, and 
 he came hack whistling joyoi^ly, having picked up 
 several five-franc pieces trampled in the mud and over- 
 looked by the victors. His mother was sitting on a 
 stool beside the fire, employed in spinning flax. lie 
 made a negative sign to her, and then, ten o'clock hav- 
 ing struck from the tower of Saint-Leonard, he went to 
 bed, muttering a prayer to the holy Virgin of Auray. 
 At dawn. Barbette, who had not closed her eyes, gave 
 a cry of joy, as she heard in the distance a sound she 
 knew well of hobnailed shoes, and soon after Galope- 
 Chopine's scowling face presented itself. 
 
 '' Thanks to Saint-Lahre," he said, " to whom T owe 
 a candle, the Gars is safe. Don't forget that we now 
 owe three candles to the saint. 5 ' 
 
 lie seized a beaker of cider and emptied it at a 
 draught without drawing breath. When his wife had 
 served his soup and taken his gun and he himself was 
 seated on the wooden bench, he said, looking at the 
 fire : "I can't make out how the Blues got here. 
 The fighting was at Florigny. Who the devil could 
 have; told them that Ihe Gars was in our house ; no one 
 knew it but lie and his handsome garce and we " 
 
 Barbette turned while.
 
 The Chouans. 337 
 
 " They made mo believe they were the gars of Saint- 
 Georges,'' she said, trembling, u it was I who told them 
 the Gars was here." 
 
 Galope-Chopine turned pale himself and dropped his 
 porringer on the table. 
 
 " I sent the boy to warn you," said Barbette, fright- 
 ened, " did n't you meet him?" 
 
 The Chouan rose and struck his wife so violently that 
 she dropped, pale as death, upon the bed. 
 
 "You cursed woman," he said, "you have killed 
 me!" Then seized with remorse, he took her in his 
 arms. " Barbette ! " he cried, " Barbette ! Holy Vir- 
 gin, my hand was too heavy ! " 
 
 "Do you think," she said, opening her eyes, "that 
 Marche-a-Terre will hear of it? " 
 
 "The Gars will certainly inquire who betrayed him." 
 
 " Will he tell it to Marche-a-Terre? " 
 
 " Marche-a-Terre and Pille-Miehe were both at 
 Florigny.'' 
 
 Barbette breathed easier. 
 
 ' If they touch a hair of your head," she cried, " 1 '11 
 rinse their glasses with vinegar." 
 
 " All! 1 can't eat," said Galope-Chopine, anxiously. 
 
 His wife set another pitcher full of cider before him, 
 but he paid no heed to it. Two big tears rolled from 
 the woman's eyes and moistened the deep furrows of 
 her withered face. 
 
 " Listen to me, wife; to-morrow morning you must 
 gather fagots on the rocks of Saint-Sulpice, to the right 
 of Saint-Leonard and set fire to them. That is a signal 
 agreed upon between the Gars and the old rector of 
 Saint-Georges who is to come and say mass for him." 
 
 '" Is the Gars going to Fougeres? " 
 
 22
 
 338 The Chouans. 
 
 " Yes, to see his handsome garce. I have been sent 
 here and there all day about it. I think he is going to 
 many her and earn* her off; for he told me to hire 
 horses and have them ready on the road to Saint-Malo." 
 
 Thereupon Galope-Chopine, who was tired out, went 
 to bed for an hour or two, at the end of which time he 
 again departed. Later, on the following morning, he 
 returned, having carefully fulfilled all the commissions 
 entrusted to him by the Gars. Finding that Marche-a- 
 Terre and Pille-Miche had not appeared at the cottage, 
 he relieved the apprehensions of his wife, who went off, 
 reassured, to the rocks of Saint-Sulpice, where she had 
 collected the night before several piles of fagots, now 
 covered with the hoarfrost. The boy went with her, 
 canring fire in a broken wooden shoe. 
 
 Hardly had his wife and son passed out of sight be- 
 hind the shed when Galope-Chopine heard the noise of 
 men jumping the successive barriers, and he could 
 dimly see, through the fog which was growing thicker, 
 the forms of two men like moving shadows. 
 
 'It is Marche-a-Tcrre and Pille-Miche," he said, 
 mentally ; then he shuddered. The two Chouans en- 
 tered the courtyard and showed their gloomy faces 
 under the broad-brimmed hats which made them look 
 like the figures which engravers introduce into their 
 landscapes. 
 
 " Good morning, Galope-Chopine," said Marche-a- 
 Terre, gravely. 
 
 " Good-morning, Monsieur Marehe-a-Terre," replied 
 the other, humbly. " Will you come in and drink a drop? 
 I've some cold buckwheat cake and i'rejh-made butter." 
 
 " That's not to Iv refused, cousin.'' said Pille-Miche. 
 
 The two Chouans entered the cottage. So far there
 
 The Chouans. 339 
 
 was nothing alarming; for the master of the house, who 
 
 ~ o 
 
 hastened to fill three beakers from his huge cask of 
 cider, while Marche-a-Terre and Pille-Miche, sitting on 
 the polished benches on each side of the long table, cut 
 the cake and spread it with the rich yellow butter from 
 which the milk spurted as the knife smoothed it. Ga- 
 lope-Chopine placed the beakers full of frothing cider 
 before his guests, and the three Chouans began to eat ; 
 but from time to time the master of the house cast side- 
 long glances at Marche-a-Terre as he drank his cider. 
 
 " Lend me your snuif-box," said Marche-a-Terre to 
 Pille-Miche. 
 
 Having shaken several pinches into the palm of his 
 hand the Breton inhaled the tobacco like a man who is 
 making read}* for serious business. 
 
 " It is cold," said Pille-Miche, rising to shut the 
 upper half of the door. 
 
 The daylight, already dim with fog, now entered onty 
 through the little window, and feebly lighted the room 
 and the two seats ; the fire, however, gave out a ruddy 
 glow. Galope-Chopine refilled the beakers, but his 
 guests refused to drink again, and throwing aside their 
 large hats looked at him solemnly. Their gestures and 
 the look they gave him terrified Galope-Chopine, who 
 fancied he saw blood in the red woollen caps they 
 wore. 
 
 " Fetch your axe," said Marche-a-Terre. 
 
 " But, Monsieur Marche-a-Terre, what do you want 
 it for?" 
 
 " Come, cousin, you know very well," said Pille- 
 Miche, pocketing his snuff-box which Marche-a-Terre 
 returned to him ; "you are condemned." 
 
 The two Chouans rose together and took their guns.
 
 340 The Chouans. 
 
 " Monsieur Marchc-a-Terre, I never said one word 
 about the Gars 
 
 " I told you to fetch your axe," said Marche-a Terre. 
 
 The hapless man knocked against the wooden bed- 
 stead of his son, and several five-franc pieces rolled on 
 the floor. Pille-Miche picked them up. 
 
 " Ho ! ho! the Blues paid you in new money," cried 
 Marche-a-Terre. 
 
 " As true as that's the image of Saint-Labre," said 
 Galope-Chopine, " I have told nothing. Barbette mis- 
 took the Fougeres men for the gars of Saint Georges, 
 and that 's the whole of it." 
 
 " Why do you tell things to your wife? " said Marche- 
 a Terre, roughh'. 
 
 ' Besides, cousin, we don't want excuses, we want 
 3'our axe. You are condemned." 
 
 At a sign from his companion, Pille-Miche helped 
 Marche-a-Terre to seize the victim. Finding himself 
 in their grasp Galope-Chopine lost all power and fell 
 on his knees holding up his hands to his slayers in 
 desperation. 
 
 "My friends, my good friends, my cousin," he said, 
 " what will become of my little boy?" 
 
 " I will take charge of him." said Marche-a-Terre. 
 
 " M_y good comrades," cried the victim, turning 
 livid. " I am not fit to die. Don't make me go with- 
 out confession. You have the right to take my life, but 
 you 've no right to make me lose a blessed eternity." 
 
 ' That is true," said Marche-a-Tcrre, addressing 
 Pille-Mieho. 
 
 The two Chouans waited a moment in much uncer- 
 tainty, unable to decide this case of conscience. Ga- 
 lope-Chopine listened to the rustling of the wind as
 
 The Chouans. 341 
 
 though he still had hope. Suddenly Pille-Michc took 
 him by the arm into a corner of the hut. 
 
 " Confess your sins to me," he said, " and I will tell 
 them to a priest of the true Church, and if there is any 
 penance to do I will do it for you." 
 
 Galope-Chopine obtained some respite by the way in 
 which he confessed his sins ; but in spite of their num- 
 ber and the circumstances of each crime, he came finally 
 to the end of them. 
 
 " Cousin," he said, imploringly, " since I am speak- 
 ing to you as I would to my confessor, I do assure 
 you, by the holy name of God, that I have nothing to 
 reproach myself with except for having, now and then, 
 buttered my bread on both sides ; and I call on Saint- 
 Labre, who is there over the chimney-piece, to witness 
 that I have never said one word about the Gars. No, 
 my good friends, I have not betrayed him." 
 
 "Very good, that will do, cousin; you can explain 
 all that to God in course of time." 
 
 " But let me say good-by to Barbette." 
 
 " Come," said Marche-;VTerre, " if you don't want us 
 to think you worse than you are, behave like a Breton and 
 be done with it." 
 
 The two Chouans seized him again and threw him on 
 the bench where he gave no other sign of resistance 
 than the instinctive and convulsive motions of an ani- 
 mal, uttering a few smothered groans, which ceased 
 when the axe fell. The head was off at the first blow. 
 Marche-a-Terre took it by the hair, left the room, 
 sought and found a large nail in the rough casing of 
 the door, and wound the hair about it ; leaving the 
 bloody head, the eyes of which he did not even close, 
 to hang: there.
 
 342 The Chouans. 
 
 The two Chouans then washed their hands, without 
 the least haste, in a pot full of water, picked up their 
 hats and guns and jumped the gate, whistling the 
 " Ballad of the Captain." Pille-Miche began to sing in 
 a hoarse voice as he reached the field the last verses of 
 that rustic song, their melody floating onthe breeze : 
 
 " At the first town 
 Her lover dressed her 
 All in white satin ; 
 
 " At the next town 
 Her lover dressed her 
 In gold and silver. 
 
 " So beautiful was she 
 They gave her veils 
 To wear in the regiment." 
 
 The tune became gradual!}" indistinguishable as the 
 Chouans got further away ; but the silence of the coun- 
 try was so great that several of the notes reached Bar- 
 bette's ear as she neared home, holding her boy by the 
 hand. A peasant-woman never listens coldly to that 
 song, so popular is it in the West of France, and Bar- 
 bette began, unconsciously, to sing the first verses : 
 
 " Come, let us go, my girl, 
 Let us go to the war; 
 Let us go, it is time. 
 
 " Brave captain, 
 Let it not trouble you, 
 But my daughter is not for you.
 
 The C/touans. 343 
 
 " You shall not have her on earth, 
 You shall not have her at sea, 
 Unless by treachery. 
 
 " The father took his daughter, 
 He unc'lothed her 
 And flung her out to sea. 
 
 " The captain, wiser still, 
 Into the waves he jumped 
 And to the shore he brought her. 
 
 " Come, let us go, my girl, 
 Let us go to the war ; 
 Let us go, it is time. 
 
 " At the first town 
 Her lover dressed her," 
 Etc., etc. 
 
 As Barbette reached this verse of the song, where 
 Pille-Miche had begun it, she was entering the court- 
 yard of her home ; her tongue suddenly stiffened, she 
 stood still, and a great cry, quickly repressed, came 
 from her gaping lips. 
 
 "What is it, mother?" said the child. 
 
 " Walk alone," she cried, pulling her hand away and 
 pushing him roughly ; " }'ou have neither father nor 
 mother." 
 
 The child, who was rubbing his shoulder and weep- 
 ing, suddenly caught sight of the thing on the nail ; his 
 childlike face kept the nervous convulsion his crying 
 had caused, but he was silent. lie opem-d his eyes 
 wide, and gazed at the head of his father with a stupid 
 look which betrayed no emotion ; then his face, brutal-
 
 344 The t'houans. 
 
 ized by ignorance, showed savage curiosity. Barbette 
 again took his hand, grasped it violently, and dragged 
 him into the house. AVhen Pille-Miehe and Marche-a- 
 Terre threw their victim on the bench one of his shoes, 
 dropping off, fell on the door beneath his neck and was 
 afterward filled with blood. It was the first thing that 
 met the widow's eye. 
 
 k> Take off your shoe,'' said the mother to her son. 
 " Put your foot in that. Good. Remember."' she 
 cried, in a solemn voice, " your father's shoe ; never put 
 on your own without remembering how the Chouans 
 filled it with his blood, and kill the Chouans!''' 
 
 She swayed her head with so convulsive an action 
 that the meshes of her black hair fell upon her neck and 
 gave a sinister expression to her face. 
 
 I call Saint-Labre to witness," she said, " that I 
 vow you to the Blues. You >hall be a soldier to avenge 
 your father. Kill, kill the ('Itonans, and do as I do. 
 Ha ! they 've taken the head of my man, and I am 
 going to give that of the Gars to the Blues." 
 
 She sprang at a bound on the bed, seized a little bag 
 of money from a hiding-place, took the hand of the as- 
 tonished little bov. and dragged him after her without 
 giving him time to put on his shoe, and was on her way 
 to Fougeres rapidly, without once turning her head to 
 look at the home she abandoned. "When they reached 
 the summit of the rocks of Saint-Sulpice Barbette set 
 fire to the pile of fagots, and the boy helped her to pile 
 on the green gor.se, damp with hoarfrost, to make the 
 smoke more dense. 
 
 "That fire will last longer than your father, longer 
 than I, longer than the Gars," said Barbette, in a 
 savage voice.
 
 The Chouans. 345 
 
 While the widow of Galope-Chopine and her son 
 with his bloody foot stood watching, the one, with a 
 gloomy expression of revenge, the other with curiosity, 
 the curling of the smoke, Mademoiselle de Verneuil's 
 eyes were fastened on the same rock, trying, but in vain, 
 to see her lover's signal. The fog, which had thickened, 
 buried the whole region under a veil, its gray tints ob- 
 scuring even the outlines of the scenery that was near- 
 est the town. She examined with tender anxiety the 
 rocks, the castle, the buildings, which loomed like 
 shadows through the mist. Near her window several 
 trees stood out against this blue-gray background ; the 
 sun gave a dull tone as of tarnished silver to the sky ; 
 its rays colored the bare branches of the trees, where a 
 few last leaves were fluttering, with a dingy red. But 
 too many dear and delightful sentiments filled Marie's 
 soul to let her notice the ill-omens of a scene so out of 
 harmony with the joys she was tasting in advance. 
 For the last two days her ideas had undergone a 
 change. The fierce, undisciplined vehemence of her 
 passions had yielded under the influence of the equable 
 atmosphere which a true love gives to life. The cer- 
 tainty of being loved, sought through so many perils, 
 had given birth to a desire to re-enter those social con- 
 ditions which sanction love, and which despair alone had 
 made her leave. To love for a moment only now seemed 
 to her a species of weakness. She saw herself lifted from 
 the dregs of society, where misfortune had driven her, 
 to the high rank in which her father had meant to place 
 her. Her vanity, repressed for a time by the cruel al- 
 ternations of hope and misconception, was awakened 
 and showed her all the benefits of a great position. 
 Born in a certain way to rank, marriage to a marquis
 
 346 The Chouans. 
 
 meant, to her mind, living and acting in the sphere 
 that belonged to her. Having known the chances and 
 changes of an adventurous life, she could appreciate, 
 better than other women, the grandeur of the feelings 
 which make the Family. Marriage and motherhood 
 with all their cares seemed to her less a task than a rest. 
 She loved the calm and virtuous life she saw through the 
 clouds of this last storm as a woman weary of virtue 
 may sometimes covet an illicit passion. Virtue was to 
 her a new seduction. 
 
 "Perhaps," she thought, leaving the window with- 
 out seeing the signal on the rocks of Saint-Sulpice, "I 
 have been too coquettish with him but I knew he loved 
 me ! Francine, it is not a dream ; to-night I shall be 
 Marquise de Montauran. What have I done to deserve 
 such perfect happiness? Oh! I love him, and love 
 alone is love's reward. And yet, I think God means 
 to recompense me for taking heart through all my 
 misery ; he means me to forget my sufferings for you 
 know, Francine, I have suffered." 
 
 " To-night, Marquise de Montauran, } T OU, Marie? 
 Ah ! until it is done I cannot believe it ! Who has told 
 him 3- our true goodness? " 
 
 " Dear child ! he has more than his handsome eyes 
 to see me with, he has a soul. If you had seen him, as 
 I have, in danger ! Oh ! he knows how to love he is 
 so brave ! " 
 
 "If you really love him why do you let him come to 
 Fougeres? " 
 
 " We had no time to sa}' one word to each other 
 when the Blues surprised us. Besides, his coining 
 is a proof of love. Can I ever have proofs enough? 
 And now, Francine, do my hair."
 
 The Ohouans. 347 
 
 But she pulled it down a score of times with motions 
 that seemed electric, as though some stormy thoughts 
 were mingling still with the arts of her coquetry. As 
 she rolled a curl or smoothed the shining plaits she 
 asked herself, with a remnant of distrust, whether the 
 marquis were deceiving her ; but treachery seemed to 
 her impossible, for did he not expose himself to instant 
 vengeance by entering Fougeres ? While studying in her 
 mirror the effects of a sidelong glance, a smile, a gentle 
 frown, an attitude of anger, or of love, or disdain, she 
 was seeking some woman's wile by which to probe to 
 the last instant the heart of the young leader. 
 
 "You are right, Francine," she said; " I wish with 
 you that the marriage were over. This is the last of 
 my cloudy days it is big with death or happiness. 
 Oh ! that fog is dreadful," she -went on, again looking 
 towards the heights of Saint-Sulpice, which were still 
 veiled in mist. 
 
 She began to arrange the silk and muslin curtains 
 which draped the window, making them intercept the 
 light and produce in the room a voluptuous chiaro-scuro. 
 
 ''Francine," she said, "take awa} r those knick- 
 knacks on the mantelpiece ; leave only the clock and the 
 two Dresden vases. I '11 fill those vases myself with the 
 flowers Corentin brought me. Take out the chairs, I 
 want only this sofa and a fauteuil. Then sweep the 
 carpet, so as to bring out the colors, and put wax 
 candles in the sconces and on the mantel." 
 
 Marie looked long and carefully at the old tapestry- 
 on the walls. Guided b}' her innate taste she found 
 among the brilliant tints of these hangings the shades 
 by which to connect their antique beauty with the fur- 
 niture and accessories of the boudoir, either by the har-
 
 348 The Chouans. 
 
 mony of color or the charm of contrast. The same 
 thought guided the arrangement of the flowers with 
 which she filled trie twisted vases which decorated her 
 chamber. The sofa was placed beside the fire. On 
 either side of the bed, which filled the space parallel to 
 that of the chimney, she placed on gilded tallies tall 
 Dresden vases filled with foliage and flowers that were 
 sweetly fragrant. She quivered more than once as she 
 arranged the folds of the green damask above the bed, 
 and studied the fall of the drapery which concealed it. 
 Such preparations have a secret, ineffable happiness 
 about them ; they cause so many delightful emotions 
 that a woman as she makes them forgets her doubts ; 
 and Mademoiselle de Vernenil forgot hers. There is 
 in truth a religious sentiment in the multiplicity of cares 
 taken for one beloved who is not there to see them and 
 reward them, but who will reward them later with the 
 approving smile these tender preparations (always so 
 fully understood) obtain. Women, as they make them, 
 love in advance ; and there are few indeed who would 
 not say to themselves, as Mademoiselle de Yemeni! now 
 thought: "To-night I shall lie happy!" That soft 
 hope lies in even' fold of the silk or muslin ; insensiblv, 
 the harmony the woman makes about her gives an at- 
 mosphere of love in which she breathes ; to her these 
 things are beings, witnesses ; she has made them the 
 sharers of her coming joy. Every movement, every 
 thought brings that joy within her grasp. But pres- 
 ently she expects no longer, she hopes no more, she 
 questions silence ; the slightest sound is to her an 
 omen ; doubt hooks its claws once more into her heart ; 
 she burns, she trembles, she is grasped by a thought 
 which holds her like a physical force ; she alternates
 
 The Clwuans. 349 
 
 from triumph to agony, and without the hope of coming 
 happiness she could not endure the torture. A score 
 of times did Mademoiselle de Verneuil raise the win- 
 dow-curtain, hoping to see the smoke rising above the 
 rocks ; but the fog only took a grayer tone, which her 
 excited imagination turned into a warning. At last she 
 let fall the curtain, impatiently resolving not to raise it 
 again. She looked gloomily around the charming room 
 to which she had given a soul and a voice, asking her- 
 self if it were done in vain, and this thought brought 
 her back to her preparations. 
 
 " Francine," she said, drawing her into a little dress- 
 ing-room which adjoined her chamber and was lighted 
 through a small round window opening on a dark corner 
 of the fortifications where thev joined the rock terrace 
 of the Promenade, " put every tiling in order. As for 
 the salon, you can leave that as it is," she added, with 
 a smile which women reserve for their nearest friends, 
 the delicate sentiment of which men seldom understand. 
 
 " Ah ! how sweet you are ! " exclaimed the little maid. 
 
 "A lover is our beaut}" foolish women that we 
 are ! " she replied gayly. 
 
 Francine left her King on the ottoman, and went 
 away convinced that, whether her mistress were loved 
 or not, she would never betray Montauran. 
 
 *' Are you sure of what you are telling me, old 
 woman? " Hulot was saying to Barbette, who had sought 
 him out as soon as she reached Fougeres. 
 
 " Have you got eyes? Look at the rocks of Saint- 
 Sulpice, there, m}' good man, to the right of Saint- 
 Leonard.'' 
 
 Corentin, who was with Hulot, looked towards the
 
 350 The Chouans. 
 
 summit in the direction pointed ont by Barbette, and, 
 as the fog was beginning to lift, he could see with some 
 distinctness the column of white smoke the woman 
 told of. 
 
 "But when is he coming, old woman? to-night, or 
 this evening ? " 
 
 " My good man," said Barbette, " I don't know." 
 
 "Why do you betray your own side?" said Ilulot, 
 quickly, having drawn her out of hearing of Corentin. 
 
 "Ah! general, see my boy's foot that's washed 
 in the blood of my man, whom the Chouans have killed 
 like a calf, to punish him for the few words }'ou got out 
 of me the other day when I was working in the fields. 
 Take my boy, for you 've deprived him of his father and 
 his mother ; make a Blue of him, my good man, teach 
 him to kill Chouans. Here, there 's two hundred 
 crowns, keep them for him ; if he is careful, the}- '11 
 last him long, for it took his father twelve years to lay 
 them by." 
 
 Hulot looked with amazement at the pale and with- 
 ered woman, whose eyes were dry. 
 
 " But you, mother," he said, " what will become of 
 3*ou? you had better keep the money." 
 
 " I? " she replied, shaking her head sadly. " I don't 
 need anything in this world. You might bolt me into 
 that highest tower over there " (pointing to the battle- 
 ments of the castle) " and the Chouans would contrive 
 to come and kill me." 
 
 She kissed her boy with an awful expression of grief, 
 looked at him, wiped away her tears, looked at him 
 again, and disappeared. 
 
 " Commandant," said Corentin, " this is an occasion 
 when two heads are better than one. We know all, and
 
 The Chouans. 351 
 
 yet we know nothing. Tf }'ou surround Mademoiselle 
 de Verneuil's house now, 3011 will only warn her. 
 Neither you, nor I, nor your Blues and your battalions 
 are strong enough to get the better of that girl if she 
 takes it into her head to save the ci-devant. The fel- 
 low is brave, and consequently wily ; he is a young man 
 full of daring. We can never get hold of him as he 
 enters Fougeres. Perhaps he is here already. Domi- 
 ciliary visit? Absurdity! that's no good, it will only 
 give them warning.'' 
 
 ik Well," said Hulot, impatiently, " I shall tell the 
 sentry on the Place Saint-Leonard to keep his eye on 
 the house, and pass word along the other sentinels, if a 
 young man enters it ; as soon as the signal reaches me 
 I shall take a corporal and four men and - " 
 
 " and," said Corentin, interrupting the old soldier, 
 " if the young man is not the marquis, or if the marquis 
 does n't go in by the front door, or if he is already 
 there, if if if what then? " 
 
 Corentin looked at the commandant with so insulting 
 an air of superiority that the old soldier shouted out : 
 " God's thousand thunders! get out of here, citizen of 
 hell ! What have I got to do with your intrigues ? If 
 that cockchafer buzzes into my guard-room I shall shoot 
 him ; if I hear he is in a house I shall surround that 
 house and take him when he leaves it and shoot him, 
 but may the devil get me if I soil my uniform with any 
 of 3'our tricks." 
 
 " Commandant, the order of the ministers states that 
 you are to obey Mademoiselle de Verneuil." 
 
 " Let her come and give them to me herself and I '11 
 see about it." 
 
 " Well, citizen," said Corentin, haughtily, " she shall
 
 352 The Chouans. 
 
 come. She shall tell you herself the hour at which she 
 expects the ci-devant. Possibly she won't be easy 
 till you do post the sentinels round the house." 
 
 " The devil is made man." thought the old leader as 
 he watched Corentin hurrying up the Queen's Stair- 
 case at the foot of which this scene had taken place. 
 " He means to deliver Moutanran bound hand and foot, 
 with no chance to fight for his life, and I shall be har- 
 assed to death with a court-martial. However,'' he 
 added, shrugging his shoulders, ' the Gars certainly is 
 an enemy of the Republic, and he killed my poor Ge- 
 rard, and his death will make a noble the less the 
 devil take him ! " 
 
 He turned on the heels of his boots and went off, 
 whistling the Marseillaise, to inspect his guardrooms. 
 
 Mademoiselle de Verneuil was absorbed in one of 
 those meditations the mysteries of which are buried in 
 the soul, and prove by their thousand contradictor}' 
 emotions, to the woman who undergoes them, that it is 
 possible to have a storm}' and passionate existence be- 
 tween four walls without even moving from the ottoman 
 on which her very life is burning itself away. She had 
 reached the final scene of the drama she hud come to 
 enact, and her mind w r as going over and over the 
 phases of love and anger which had so powerfully 
 stirred her life during the ten days which had now 
 elapsed since her first meeting with the marquis. A 
 man's step suddenly sounded in the adjoining room and 
 she trembled ; the door opened, she turned quickly and 
 saw Corentin. 
 
 "You little cheat!*' said the police-agent, "when 
 will you stop deceiving? Ah, Marie, Marie, you are
 
 TJte Chouans. 853 
 
 pla}'ing a dangerous game by not taking me into }'our 
 confidence. Why do you play such tricks without con- 
 sulting me? If the marquis escapes his fate 
 
 " It won't be }'our fault, will it? " she replied, sarcas- 
 tically. " Monsieur," she continued, in a grave voice, 
 " by what right do you come into my house?" 
 
 "Your house?" he exclaimed. 
 
 " You remind me," she answered, coldly, " that I 
 have no home. Perhaps you chose this house deliber- 
 ately for the purpose of committing murder. I shall 
 leave it. I would live in a desert to get away from 
 
 'Spies, say the word," interrupted Corcntin. "But 
 this house is neither yours nor mine, it belongs to the 
 government ; and as for leaving it }'ou will do nothing 
 of the kind," he added, giving her a diabolical look. 
 
 Mademoiselle de Verneuil rose indignantly, made a 
 few steps to leave the room, but stopped short sud- 
 denly as Corentin raised the curtain of the window and 
 beckoned her, with a smile, to come to him. 
 
 " Do you see that column of smoke? "' he asked, with 
 the calmness he always kept on his livid face, however 
 intense his feelings might be. 
 
 "What has my departure to do with that burning 
 brush? " she asked. 
 
 "Why does your voice tremble?" he said. "You 
 poor thing!" he added, in a gentle voice, "I know 
 all. The marquis is coming to Fougeres this evening ; 
 and it is not with an}' intention of delivering him to us 
 that you have arranged this boudoir and the ilowers and 
 candles." 
 
 Mademoiselle de Verneuil turned pale, for she saw 
 her lover's death in the eyes of this tiger with a human 
 face, and her love for him rose to frenzy. Each hair 
 
 2:3
 
 354 The Chouans. 
 
 on her head caused her an acute pain she could not en- 
 dure, and she fell on the ottoman. Corentin stood look- 
 ing at her for a moment with his arms folded, half 
 pleased at inflicting a torture which avenged him for 
 the contempt and the sarcasms this woman had heaped 
 upon his head, half grieved by the sufferings of a crea- 
 ture whose yoke was pleasant to him, heavy as it was. 
 
 " She loves him! " he muttered. 
 
 "Love him !" she cried. "Ah! what are words? 
 Corentin ! he is my life, my soul, my breath ! " She 
 flung herself at the feet of the man, whose silence terri- 
 fied her. "Soul of vileness ! " she cried, "I would 
 rather degrade myself to save his life than degrade my- 
 self by betraying him. I will save him at the cost of 
 my own blood. Speak, what price must I pay you?" 
 
 Corentin quivered. 
 
 " I came to take your orders, Marie," he said, rais- 
 ing her. u Yes, Marie, your insults will not hinder n\y 
 devotion to 3'our wishes, provided you will promise not 
 to deceive me again ; 3-011 must know by this time that 
 no one dupes me with impunity." 
 
 " If you want me to love you, Corentin, help me to 
 save him." 
 
 "At what hour is he coming?" asked the spy, en- 
 deavoring to ask the question calmly. 
 
 " Alas, I do not know." 
 
 They looked at each other in silence. 
 
 " I am lost! " thought Mademoiselle de Verneuil. 
 
 " She is deceiving me ! " thought Corentin. " Marie," 
 he continued, ''! have two maxims. One is never to 
 believe a single word a woman says to me that's the 
 only means of not being duped ; the other is to find what 
 interest she h;is in doing Ih' 1 opposite of what she says,
 
 The Chouans. 355 
 
 and behaving in contradiction to the facts she pretends 
 to confide to me. I think that you and I understand 
 each other now." 
 
 u Perfectly," replied Mademoiselle de Verneuil. 
 "You want proofs of 1113" good faith; but I reserve 
 them for the time when you give me some of yours." 
 
 " Adieu, mademoiselle," said Corentin, coolly. 
 
 " Nonsense," said the girl, smiling ; "sit down, and 
 pray don't sulk ; but if you do I shall know how to save 
 the marquis without }'ou. As for the three hundred thou- 
 sand francs which are always spread before your e}"es, 
 I will give them to you in good gold as soon as the 
 marquis is safe." 
 
 Corentin rose, stepped back a pace or two, and looked 
 at Marie. 
 
 "You have grown rich in a very short time," he said, 
 in a tone of ill-disguised bitterness. 
 
 " Montauran," she continued, "will make you a 
 better offer still for his ransom. Now, then, prove to 
 me that you have the means of guaranteeing him from 
 all danger and 
 
 " Can't you send him away the moment he arrives?" 
 cried Corentin, suddenly. "Hulot does not know he 
 is coming, and He stopped as if he had said too 
 much. " But how absurd that you should ask me how 
 to play a trick," he said, with an easy laugh. " Now 
 listen, Marie, I do feel certain of 3-011 r lo\'alty. Promise 
 me a compensation for all I lose in furthering your 
 wishes, and I will make that old fool of a commandant 
 so unsuspicious that the marquis will be as safe at Fou- 
 geres as at Saint-James." 
 
 "Yes, I promise it," said the girl, with a sort of 
 solemnity.
 
 356 The Chouans. 
 
 " Xo, not in that way," he said, " swear it by your 
 
 mother." 
 
 Mademoiselle cle Verneuil shuddered ; raising a 
 trembling hand she made the oath required by the man 
 whose tone to her had changed so suddenly. 
 
 ' You can command me," he said ; " don't deceive me 
 again, and }'ou shall have reason to bless me to-night." 
 
 " I will trust you, Corentin," cried Mademoiselle de 
 Verneuil, much moved. She bowed her head gently 
 towards him and smiled with a kindness not unmixed 
 with surprise, as she saw an expression of melancholy 
 tenderness on his face. 
 
 " What an enchanting creature !" thought Corentin, 
 as he left the house. ' Shall I ever get her as a means 
 to fortune and a source of delight? To fling herself at 
 my feet ! Oh, yes, the marquis shall die ! If I can't 
 get that woman in any other way than by dragging her 
 through the mud, I '11 sink her in it. At any rate," he 
 thought, as he reached the square unconscious of his 
 steps, " she no longer distrusts me. Three hundred 
 thousand francs down ! she thinks me grasping ! Either 
 the offer was a trick or she is already married to him." 
 
 Corentin, buried in thought, was unable to come to a 
 resolution. The fog which the sun had dispersed at 
 mid-day was now rolling thicker and thicker, so that he 
 could hardly see the trees at a little distance. 
 
 "That's another piece of ill-luck," he muttered, as 
 he turned slowly homeward. " It is impossible to see 
 ten fret. The weather protects the lovers. How is 
 one to watch a house in such a fog? Who goes 
 there?" he cried, catching the arm of a boy who 
 seemed to have clambered up the dangerous rocks 
 which made the terrace of the Promenade.
 
 The Chouans. 357 
 
 " It is I," said a childish voice. 
 
 " Ah ! the boy with the blood}' foot. Do you want 
 to revenge your father ? " said Corentin. 
 
 " Yes," said the child. 
 
 " Very good. Do you know the Gars? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 "Good again. Now, don't leave me except to do 
 what I bid you, and you will obey your mother and 
 earn some big sous do you like sous? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 ik You like sous, and }'ou want to kill the Gars who 
 killed your father well, I '11 take care of you. Ah ! 
 Marie," he muttered, after a pause, " you yourself shall 
 betray him, as 3*011 engaged to do ! She is too violent 
 to suspect me passion never reflects. She does not 
 know the marquis's writing. Yes, I can set a trap 
 into which her nature will drive her headlong. But 
 I must first see Hulot." 
 
 Mademoiselle de Verneuil and Francine were deliber- 
 ating on the means of saving the marquis from the 
 more than doubtful generosity of Corentin and Hulot's 
 bayonets. 
 
 " I could go and warn him." said the Breton girl. 
 
 "But we don't know where he is," replied Marie; 
 " even I, with the instincts of love, could never find 
 him." 
 
 After making and rejecting a number of plans Ma- 
 demoiselle de Verneuil exclaimed, " When I see him his 
 danger will inspire me." 
 
 She thought, like other ardent souls, to act on the 
 spur of the moment, trusting to her star, or to that in- 
 stinct of adroitness which rarely, if ever, fails a woman. 
 Perhaps her heart was never so wrung. At times she
 
 358 The Chouans. 
 
 seemed stupefied, her eyes were fixed, and then, at the 
 least noise, she shook like a half- uprooted tree which 
 the woodman drags with a rope to hasten its fall. Sud- 
 denly, a loud report from a dozen guns echoed from a 
 distance. Marie turned pale and grasped Francine's 
 hand. "I am dying," she cried; "they have killed 
 him ! " 
 
 The heavy footfall of a man was heard in the ante- 
 chamber. Francine went out and returned with a 
 corporal. The man, making a military salute to Ma- 
 demoiselle de Verneuil, produced some letters, the 
 covers of which were a good deal soiled. Receiving 
 no acknowledgment, the Blue said as lie withdrew, 
 " Madame, they are from the commandant." 
 
 Mademoiselle de Verneuil, a prey to horrible presen- 
 timents, read a letter written apparently in great haste 
 by II u lot : 
 
 "Mademoiselle a part} r of my men have just 
 caught a messenger from the Gars and have shot him. 
 Among the intercepted letters is one which may be use- 
 ful to you and I transmit it etc." 
 
 " Thank God, it was not he they shot," she ex- 
 claimed, flinging the letter into the fire. 
 
 She breathed more freely and took up the other letter, 
 inclosed by Hulot. It was apparently written to Ma- 
 dame du Gua by the marquis. 
 
 "No, my angel," the letter said, "I cannot go to- 
 night to La Vivetiere. You must lose your wager with 
 the count. I triumph over the Republic in the person 
 of their beautiful emissary. You must allow that she 
 is worth the sacrifice of one night. It will be my only 
 victory in this campaign, for I have received the news 
 that La Vendee surrenders. 1 can do nothing more in
 
 The Chotians. 359 
 
 France. Let us go back to England but we will talk 
 of all this to-morrow." 
 
 The letter fell from Marie's hands ; she closed her 
 eyes, and was silent, leaning backward, with her head 
 on a cushion. After a long pause she looked at the 
 clock, which then marked four in the afternoon. 
 
 "My lord keeps me waiting," she said, with savage 
 irony. 
 
 'Oh ! God grant he may not come ! " cried Francine. 
 
 " If he does not come," said Marie, in a stifled tone, 
 " I shall go to him. No, no, he will soon be here. 
 Francine, do I look well?" 
 
 " You are veiy pale." 
 
 " Ah! " continued Mademoiselle de Verneuil, glanc- 
 ing about her, " this perfumed room, the flowers, the 
 lights, tliis intoxicating air, it is full of that celestial 
 life of which I dreamed '" 
 
 " Marie, what has happened?" 
 
 "lam betrayed, deceived, insulted, fooled! I will 
 kill him, I will tear him bit by bit! Yes, there was al- 
 ways in his manner a contempt he could not hide and 
 which I would not see. Oh ! I shall die of this ! Fool 
 that I am," she went on laughing, "he is coming; I 
 have one night in which to teach him that, married or 
 not. the man who has possessed me cannot abandon me. 
 I will measure my vengeance by his offence ; he shall 
 die with despair in his soul. I did believe he had a 
 soul of honor, but no ! it is that of a lackey. Ah, 
 he has cleverly deceived me. for even now it seems im- 
 possible that the man who abandoned me to Pille-Miche 
 should sink to such back-stair tricks. It is so base to 
 deceive a loving woman, for it is so easy. lie might 
 have killed me if he chose, but lie to me ! to me, who
 
 3oO The Chouans. 
 
 held him in my thoughts so high! The scaffold! the 
 scaffold ! ah ! could I only see him guillotined ! Am 
 I cruel? He shall go to his death covered with ca- 
 resses, with kisses which might have blessed him for a 
 lifetime " 
 
 " Marie," said Franciue, gently, " be the victim of 
 3'our lover like other women ; not his mistress and his 
 betrayer. Keep his memory in your heart ; do not 
 make it an anguish to you. If there were no joys in 
 hopeless love, what would become of us, poor women 
 that we are? God. of whom you never think, Marie, 
 will reward us for obeying our vocation on this earth, 
 to love, and suffer." 
 
 '' Dear." replied Mademoiselle de Verneuil. taking 
 Francine's hand and patting it, "your voice is veiy 
 sweet and persuasive. Reason is attractive from A'our 
 lips. I should like to obey you. but " 
 
 "You will forgive him, you will not betray him? " 
 
 " Hush ! never speak of that man again. Compared 
 with him Corentin is a noble being. Do you hear me? " 
 
 She rose, hiding beneath a face that was horribly calm 
 the madness of her soul and a thirst for vengeance. 
 The slow and measured step with which she left the 
 room conveyed the .sense of an irrevocable resolution. 
 Lost in thought, hugging her insults, too proud to show 
 the slightest suffering, she went to the guardroom at 
 the Porte Saint-Leonard and asked where the com- 
 mandant lived. She had hardly left her house when 
 Corentin entered it. 
 
 "Oh, Monsieur Corentin," cried Francine, "if you 
 are interested in this young man, save him ; Mademoi- 
 selle has gone to give him up because of this wretched 
 letter."
 
 The Chouans. 361 
 
 Corentin took the letter carelessly and asked, 
 
 kt Which way did she go? " 
 
 "I don't know." 
 
 " Yes," he said, " I will save her from her own 
 despair." 
 
 He disappeared, taking the letter with him. When 
 he reached the street he said to Galope-Chopine's lx>3 r , 
 whom he had stationed to watch the door, " Which way 
 did a lady go who left the house just now? " 
 
 The boy went with him a little way and showed him 
 the steep street which led to the Porte Saint-Leonard. 
 " That way," he said. 
 
 At this moment four men entered Mademoiselle de 
 Verneuil's house, unseen by either the boy or Corentin. 
 
 " Return to your watch," said the latter. " Play 
 witli the handles of the blinds and see what you can 
 inside ; look about you everywhere, even on the roof." 
 
 Corentin darted rapidly in the direction given him, 
 and thought he recognized Mademoiselle de Verneuil 
 through the fog; he did, in fact, overtake her just as 
 she reached the guard-house. 
 
 " Where are you going?" he said ; " } T OU are pale 
 what lias happened? Is it right for you to be out 
 alone? Take my arm." 
 
 " Where is the commandant? " she asked. 
 
 HardU' had the words left her lips when she heard 
 the movement of troops beyond the Porte Saint-Leon- 
 ard and distinguished Ilulot's gruff voice in the tumult. 
 
 "God's thunder! '' he cried, " I never saw such fog 
 as this for a reconnaisance ! The Gars must have or- 
 dered the weather." 
 
 " What are you complaining of ? " said Mademoiselle 
 de Verneuil, grasping his arm. " The fog will cover
 
 3G2 The Chouans. 
 
 vengeance as well as perfidy. Commandant," she 
 added, in a low voice, " }"ou must take measures at 
 once so that the Gars may not escape us." 
 
 " Is he at your house? " he asked, in a tone which 
 showed his amazement. 
 
 " Not yet," she replied ; " but give me a safe man and 
 I will send him to you when the marquis comes." 
 
 "That's a mistake," said Corentin ; "a soldier 
 will alarm him, but a boy, and I can find one, will 
 not." 
 
 *' Commandant," said Mademoiselle de Verneuil, 
 " thanks to this fog which you are cursing, you can sur- 
 round my house. Put soldiers everywhere. Place a 
 guard in the church to command the esplanade on 
 which the windows of my salon open. Post men on 
 the Promenade ; for though the windows of in}' bed- 
 room are twenty feet above the ground, despair does 
 sometimes give a man the power to jump even greater 
 distances safely. Listen to what I say. I shall prob- 
 ably send this gentleman out of the door of my house ; 
 therefore see that only brave men are there to meet 
 him ; for," she added, with a sigh, *' no one denies him 
 courage ; he will assuredly defend himself." 
 
 " Gudin ! " called the commandant. "Listen, my 
 lad," he continued in a low voice when the young man 
 joined him, " this devil of a girl is betraying the Gars 
 to us lam sure I don't know why, but that's no 
 matter. Take ten men and place yourself so as to hold 
 the cul-de-sac in which the house stands ; be careful 
 that no one sees either 3-011 or your men." 
 
 " Yes, commandant. I know the ground." 
 
 " Veiy good." said Ilulot. " I '11 send Beau-Pied to 
 lut you know when to play your sabres. Try to meet
 
 The Chouans. 303 
 
 the marquis }'ourself, and if you can manage to kill 
 him, so that I sha'n't have to shoot him judicially, you 
 shall be a lieutenant in a fortnight or my name 's not 
 Ilulot." 
 
 Gudin departed with a dozen soldiers. 
 
 " Do you know what you have done?" said Corentin 
 to Mademoiselle de Verneuil, in a low voice. 
 
 She made no answer, but looked with a sort of sat- 
 isfaction at the men who were starting, under com- 
 mand of the sub-lieutenant, for the Promenade, while 
 others, following the next orders given b}' Hulot, were 
 to post themselves in the shadows of the church of 
 Saint-Leonard. 
 
 "There are houses adjoining mine," she said; "you 
 had better surround them all. Don't lay up regrets by 
 neglecting a single precaution." 
 
 " She is mad," thought Ilulot. 
 
 "Was I not a prophet?" asked Corentin in his ear. 
 " As for the boy I shall send with her, he is the little 
 gars with a bloody foot ; therefore " 
 
 He did not finish his sentence, for Mademoiselle de 
 Verneuil by a sudden movement darted in the direction 
 of her house, whither he followed her, whistling like a 
 man supremely satisfied. When he overtook her she 
 was already at the door of her house, where Galope- 
 Chopine's little boy was on the watch. 
 
 " Mademoiselle," said Corentin, ' take the lad with 
 you ; you cannot have a more innocent or active emis- 
 sary. Boy,'' he added, " when you have seen the 
 Gars enter the house come to me, no matter who stops 
 you; you'll find me at the guard-house and I'll give 
 }'ou something that will make you eat cake for the rest 
 of your days."
 
 384 The Chouans. 
 
 At these words, breathed rather than said in the 
 child's ear, Corentin felt his hand squeezed by that of 
 the little Breton, who followed Mademoiselle de Ver- 
 neuil into the house. 
 
 'Now, my good friends, you can come to an expla- 
 nation as soon as you like," cried Corentin when the 
 door was closed. ' k If you make love, my little mar- 
 quis, it will be on your winding-sheet." 
 
 But Corentin could not bring himself to let that fatal 
 house completely out of sight, and he went to the 
 Promenade, where he found the commandant giving his 
 last orders. By this time it was night. Two hours 
 went by ; but the sentinels posted at intervals noticed 
 nothing that led them to suppose the marquis had 
 evaded the triple line of men who surrounded the three 
 sides by which the tower of Papegaut was accessible. 
 Twenty times had Corentin gone from the Promenade 
 to the guard-house, always to find that his little emissary 
 had not appeared. Sunk in thought, the spj- paced the 
 Promenade slowly, enduring the martyrdom to which 
 three passions, terrible in their clashing, subject a man, 
 love, avarice, and ambition. Eight o'clock struck 
 from all the towers in the town. The moon rose late. 
 Fog and darkness wrapped in impenetrable gloom the 
 places where the drama planned by this man was com- 
 ing to its climax. He was able to silence the struggle 
 of his passions as he walked up and down, his arms 
 crossed, and his eyes fixed on the windows which rose 
 like tho luminous eyes of a phantom above the rampart. 
 The deep silence was broken only by the rippling of the 
 Nancon, by the regular and lugubrious tolling from the 
 belfries, by the heavy steps of the sentinels or the rattle 
 of arms as the guard was hourly relieved.
 
 The Chouans. 365 
 
 "The night's as black as a wolfs jaw," said the 
 voice of Pille-Miche. 
 
 " Go on," growled Marche-a-Terre, "and don't talk 
 more than a dead dog." 
 
 " I 'm hardl)' breathing," said the Chouan. 
 
 " If the man who made that stone roll down wants 
 his heart to serve as the scabbard for m}' knife he '11 do 
 it again," said Marche-a-Terre, in a low voice scarcely 
 heard above the flowing of the river. 
 
 " It was I," said Pille-Miche. 
 
 " Well, then, old money-bag, down on your stomach," 
 said the other, " and wriggle like a snake through a 
 hedge, or we shall leave our carcasses behind us sooner 
 than we need." 
 
 " IIe\-, Marche-a-Terre," said the incorrigible Pille- 
 Miche, who was using his hands to drag himself along 
 on his stomach, and had reached the level of his com- 
 rade's ear. "If the Grande-Garce is to be believed 
 there '11 be a fine booty to-day. Will you go shares 
 with me?" 
 
 "Look here, Pille-Miche," said Marche-a-Terre stop- 
 ping short on the flat of his stomach. The other 
 Chouans, who were accompanying the two men, did the 
 same, so wearied were they with the difficulties they had 
 met with in climbing the precipice. "I know you," 
 continued Marche-a-Terre, " for a Jack Grab-All who 
 would rather give blows than receive them when there 's 
 nothing else to be done. We have not come here to 
 grab dead men's shoes ; we are devils against devils, 
 and sorrow to those whose claws are too short. The 
 Grande-Garce has sent us here to save the Gars. He 
 is up there ; lift your dog's nose and see that window 
 above the tower."
 
 366 The Chouans, 
 
 Midnight was striking. The moon rose, giving the 
 appearance of white smoke to the fog. Pille-Michc 
 squeezed Marche-a-Terre's arm and silently showed 
 him on the terrace jnst above them, the triangular iron 
 of several shining bayonets. 
 
 " The Blues are there already," said Pille-Miche ; " we 
 sha'n't gain anything by force." 
 
 " Patience." replied Marche-a-Terre ; " if I examined 
 right this morning, we must be at the foot of the Pape- 
 gaut tower between the ramparts and the Promenade, 
 that place where they put the manure ; it is like a 
 feather-bed to fall on." 
 
 14 If Saint-Labre," remarked Pille-Miche, " would 
 only change into cider the blood we shall shed to-night 
 the citizens might lay in a good stock to-morrow." 
 
 Marche-a-Terre laid his large hand oven- his friend's 
 mouth ; then an order muttered by him went from rank 
 to rank of the Chouans suspended as they were in mid- 
 air among the brambles of the slate rocks. Corentin, 
 walking up and down the esplanade had too practised 
 an ear not to hear the rustling of the shrubs and the light 
 sound of pebbles rolling down the sides of the precipice. 
 Marche-a-Terre. who seemed to possess the gift of see- 
 ing in darkness, and whose senses, continually in ac- 
 tion, were acute as those of a savage, saw Corentin ; 
 like a trained dog he had scented him. Fouche's di- 
 plomatist listened but heard nothing ; he looked at the 
 natural wall of rock and saw no signs. If the confus- 
 ing glearn of the fog enabled him to sec, here and there, 
 a crouching Chouan, he took him, no doubt, for a frag- 
 ment of rock, for these human bodies had all the ap- 
 pearance of inert nature. This danger to the invaders 
 was of short duration. Corentin's attention was di-
 
 The Cliouans. 367 
 
 verted by a very distinct noise coming from the other 
 end of the Promenade, where the rock wall ended and a 
 steep descent leading down to the Queen's Staircase 
 began. When Corentin readied the spot he saw a 
 figure gliding past it as if by magic. Putting out his 
 hand to grasp this real or fantastic being, who was 
 there, he supposed, with no good intentions, he en- 
 countered the soft and rounded figure of a woman. 
 
 "The devil take yon!" he exclaimed, "if any one 
 else had met you, you 'd have had a ball through }'our 
 head. What are yon doing, and where are yon going, 
 at this time of night? Are yon dumb? It certainly 
 is a woman," he said to himself. 
 
 The silence was suspicious, but the stranger broke it 
 by saying, in a voice which suggested extreme fright. 
 " Ah, my good man, I 'in on my way back from a wake." 
 
 " It is the pretended mother of the marquis," thought 
 Corentin. "I'll see what she's about. Well, go that 
 way, old woman," he replied, feigning not to recognize 
 her. " Keep to the left if you don't want to be shot." 
 
 He stood quite still ; then observing that Madame da 
 Gua was making for the Papegaut tower, he followed her 
 at a distance with diabolical caution. During this fatal 
 encounter the Chouans had posted themselves on the 
 manure towards which Marche-a-Terre had guided 
 them. 
 
 "There's the Grande-Garce ! " thought Marche-a- 
 Terre, as he rose to his feet against the tower wall like 
 a bear. 
 
 " We are here/' he said to her in a low voice. 
 
 " Good," she replied. " there 's a ladder in the garden 
 of that house about six feet above the manure ; find it, 
 and the Gars is saved. Do von see that small window
 
 368 The Chouans. 
 
 up there? It is in the dressing-room ; you must get to 
 it. Tiiis side of the tower is the only one not watched. 
 The horses are read}' ; if you can hold the passage over 
 the Nancon, a quarter of an hour will put him out of 
 danger in spite of his folly. But if that woman tries 
 to follow him, stab her." 
 
 Corentin now saw several of the forms he had 
 hitherto supposed to be stones moving cautiousby but 
 swiftly. He went at once to the guardroom at the 
 Porte Saint-Leonard, where he found the commandant 
 fully dressed and sound asleep on a camp bed. 
 
 " Let him alone," said Beau-Pied, roughly, " he has 
 only just lain down." 
 
 "The Chouans are here!" cried Corentin, in Hulot's 
 ear. 
 
 " Impossible ! but so much the better." cried the old 
 soldier, still half asleep ; " then he can fight." 
 
 When Hulot reached the Promenade Corentin 
 pointed out to him the singular position taken by the 
 Chouans. 
 
 u They must have deceived or strangled the sentries 
 I placed between the castle and the Queen's Stair- 
 case. Ah ! what a devil of a fog! However, patience ! 
 I '11 send a squad of men under a lieutenant to the 
 foot of the rock. There is no use attacking them 
 where they are, for those animals are so hard they 'd 
 let themselves roll down the precipice without breaking 
 a limb." 
 
 The cracked clock of the belfry was ringing two when 
 the commandant got back to the Promenade after giv- 
 ing these orders and taking every military precaution 
 to seize the Chouans. The sentries were doubled and 
 Mademoiselle de Verneuil's house became the centre of
 
 The Cliouans. 309 
 
 a little arm\'. Ilulot found Corcntin absorbed in con- 
 templation of the window which overlooked the tower. 
 
 "' Citizen," said the commandant, " I think the ci- 
 devant has fooled us ; there 's nothing stirring." 
 
 "He is there," cried Corentin. pointing to the win- 
 dow. " I have seen a man's shadow on the curtain. 
 But I can't think what has become of that boy. They 
 must have killed him or locked him up. There ! com- 
 mandant, don't you see that? there's a man's shadow; 
 come, come on ! " 
 
 " I sha'n't seize him in bed ; thunder of God ! He 
 will come out if he went in ; Gudin won't miss him," 
 cried Ilulot, who had his own reasons for waiting till 
 the Gars could defend himself. 
 
 " Commandant, I enjoin you, in the name of the law 
 to proceed at once into that house." 
 
 " You're a fine scoundrel to try to make me do that." 
 
 Without showing an}" resentment at the command- 
 ant's language, Corentin said coolly : " You will obey 
 me. Here is an order in good form, signed by the 
 minister of war, which will force you to do so." He 
 drew a paper from his pocket and held it out. " Do 
 you suppose we are such fools as to leave that girl to 
 do as she likes? We are endeavoring to suppress a 
 civil war, and the grandeur of the purpose covers the 
 pettiness of the means." 
 
 "I take the liberty, citizen, of sending you to you 
 understand me ? Enough. To the right-about, march ! 
 Let me alone, or it will be the worse for you." 
 
 " But read that," persisted Corentin. 
 
 "Don't bother me with your functions," cried Hulot, 
 furious at receiving orders from a man he regarded as 
 contemptible. 
 
 24
 
 370 The Chouans. 
 
 At this instant Galope-Chopine's boy suddenly ap- 
 peared among them like a rat from a hole. 
 
 " The Gars has started ! " he cried. 
 
 "Which way? " 
 
 " The rue Saint-Leonard." 
 
 " Beau-Pied," said Hulot in a whisper to the corpo- 
 ral who was near him, " go and tell your lieutenant to 
 draw in closer round the house, and make ready to fire. 
 Left wheel, forward on the tower, the rest of you ! " he 
 shouted. 
 
 To understand the conclusion of this fatal drama we 
 must re-enter the house witli Mademoiselle de Verneuil 
 when she returned to it after denouncing the marquis to 
 the commandant. 
 
 When passions reach their crisis they bring us under 
 the dominion of far greater intoxication than the petty 
 excitements of wine or opium. The lucidity then 
 given to ideas, the delicacy of the high-wrought senses, 
 produce the most singular and unexpected effects. 
 Some persons when they find themselves under the 
 tyranny of a single thought can see with extraordinary 
 distinctness objects scarcely visible to others, while at 
 the same time the most palpable things become to them 
 almost as if they did not exist. When Mademoiselle 
 de Verneuil hurried, after reading the marquis's letter, 
 to prepare the way for vengeance just as she had lately 
 been preparing all for love, she was in that stage of 
 mental intoxication which makes real life like the life 
 of a somnambulist. But when she saw her house sur- 
 rounded, by her own orders, with a triple line of bayo- 
 nets a sudden flash of light illuminated her soul. She 
 judged her conduct and saw with horror that she had 
 committed a crime. Under the first shock of this con-
 
 The Chouans. 371 
 
 viction she sprang to the threshold of the door and 
 stood there irresolute, striving to think, yet unable to 
 follow out her reasoning. She knew so vaguely what 
 had happened that she tried in vain to remember why 
 she was in the antechamber, and wlvy she was leading 
 a strange child by the hand. A million of stars were 
 floating in the air before her like tongues of fire. She 
 began to walk about, striving to shake off the horrible 
 torpor which laid hold of her ; but, like one asleep, no 
 object appeared to her under its natural form or in its 
 own colors. She grasped the hand of the little boy with 
 a violence not natural to her, dragging him along with 
 such precipitate steps that she seemed to have the mo- 
 tions of a madwoman. She saw neither persons nor 
 things in the salon as she crossed it, and yet she was 
 saluted b}" three men who made wa\~ to let her pass. 
 
 " That must be she," said one of them. 
 
 " She is very handsome," exclaimed another, who 
 was a priest. 
 
 "Yes,"' replied the first; " but how pale and agi- 
 tated" 
 
 " And beside herself," said the third ; " she did not 
 even see us." 
 
 At the door of her own room Mademoiselle de Ver- 
 neuil saw the smiling face of Francine, who whispered 
 to her: " He is here, Marie." 
 
 Mademoiselle de Verne nil awoke, reflected, looked at 
 the child whose hand she held, remembered all, and 
 replied to the girl: "Shut up that boy; if you wish 
 me to live do not let him escape you." 
 
 As she slowly said the words her eyes were fixed on 
 the door of her bedroom, and there the}' continued 
 fastened with so dreadful a fixedness that it seemed as
 
 872 The Chouans. 
 
 if she saw her victim through the wooden panels. Then 
 she gently opened it, passed through and closed it be- 
 hind her without turning round, for she saw the mar- 
 quis standing before the fireplace. His dress, without 
 being too choice, had the look of careful arrangement 
 which adds so much to the admiration which a woman 
 feels for her lover. All her self-possession came back 
 to her at the sight of him. Her lips, rigid, although 
 half-open, showed the enamel of her white teeth and 
 formed a smile that was fixed and terrible rather than 
 voluptuous. She walked with slow steps toward the 
 young man and pointed with her finger to the clock. 
 
 " A man who is worthy of love is worth waiting for," 
 she said with deceptive gayety. 
 
 Then, overcome with the violence of her emotions, she 
 dropped upon the sofa which was near the fireplace. 
 
 " Dear Marie, you are charming when you are 
 angry," said the marquis, sitting down beside her and 
 taking her hand, which she let him take, and entreat- 
 ing a look, which she refused him. " I hope,'' he con- 
 tinued, in a tender, caressing voice, " that my wife will 
 not long refuse a glance to her loving husband." 
 
 Hearing the words she turned abruptly and looked 
 into his eyes. 
 
 "What is the meaning of that dreadful look?" he 
 said, laughing. " But your hand is burning ! oh, my 
 love, what is it? " 
 
 " Your love ! " she repeated, in a dull, changed voice. 
 
 " Yes," he said, throwing himself on his knees be- 
 side her and taking her two hands which he covered 
 with kisses. " Yes, my love I am thine for life." 
 
 She pushed him violently away from her and rose. 
 Her features contracted, she laughed as mad people
 
 The Ohouans. 373 
 
 laugh, and then she said to him: " You do not mean 
 one word of all you are saying, base man baser than 
 the lowest villain." She sprang to the dagger which 
 was lying beside a flower-vase, and let it sparkle be- 
 fore the eyes of the amazed young marquis. " Bah ! " 
 she said, flinging it awaj r from her, " I do not respect 
 you enough to kill you. Your blood is even too vile to 
 be shed by soldiers ; I see nothing fit for you but the 
 executioner." 
 
 The words were painful!}' uttered in a low voice, and 
 she moved her feet like a spoilt child, impatiently. The 
 marquis went to her and tried to clasp her. 
 
 " Don't touch me ! " she cried, recoiling from him 
 with a look of horror. 
 
 " She is mad ! " said the marquis in despair. 
 
 *' Mad, yes ! " she repeated, " but not mad enough to 
 be your dupe. What would I not forgive to passion? 
 but to seek to possess me without love, and to write to 
 that woman 
 
 ''To whom have I written?" he said, with an as- 
 tonishment which was certainly not feigned. 
 
 " To that chaste woman who sought to kill me." 
 
 The marquis turned pale with anger and said, grasp- 
 ing the back of a chair until he broke it, " If Madame 
 du Gua has committed some dastardly wrong " 
 
 Mademoiselle de Verneuil looked for the letter ; not 
 finding it she called to Francine. 
 
 "Where is that letter?" she asked. 
 
 " Monsieur Corentin took it." 
 
 " Corentin ! ah ! I understand it all ; he wrote the 
 letter ; he has deceived me with diabolical art as he 
 alone can deceive." 
 
 With a piercing cry she flung herself on the sofa,
 
 374 The Chouans. 
 
 tears rushing from her eyes. Doubt and confidence 
 were equally dreadful now. The marquis knelt beside 
 her and clasped her to his breast, saying, again and 
 again, the only words he was able to utter : 
 
 "Why do you weep, my darling? there is no harm 
 done ; your reproaches were all love ; do not weep, I 
 love 3"ou I shall always love you." 
 
 Suddenhy he felt her press him with almost super- 
 natural force. " Do you still love me ? " she said, 
 amid her sobs. 
 
 " Can you doubt it?" he replied in a tone that was 
 almost melancholy. 
 
 She abruptly disengaged herself from his arms, and 
 fled, as if frightened and confused, to a little distance. 
 
 "Do I doubt it?" she exclaimed, but a smile of gen- 
 tle meaning was on her lover's face, and the words died 
 away upon her lips ; she let him take her by the hand 
 and lead her to the salon. There an altar had been 
 hastily arranged during her absence. The priest was 
 robed in his officiating vestments. The lighted tapers 
 shed upon the ceiling a glow as soft as hope itself. She 
 now recognized the two men who had bowed to her, the 
 Comte de Bauvan and the Baron du Guenic, the wit- 
 nesses chosen by Montauran. 
 
 " You will not still refuse? " said the marquis. 
 
 But at the sight she stopped, stepped backward into 
 her chamber and fell on her knees ; raising her hands 
 towards the marquis she cried out : " Pardon ! pardon ! 
 pardon ! " 
 
 Her voice died away, her head fell back, her eyes 
 closed, and she lay in the arms of her lover and Fran- 
 cine as if dead. When she opened her ej-es they met 
 those of the young man full of loving tenderness.
 
 The Chouans. 375 
 
 " Marie ! patience ! this is your last trial," he said. 
 
 " The last ! " she exclaimed, bitterly. 
 
 Francine and the marquis looked at each other in 
 surprise, but she silenced them by a gesture. 
 
 " Call the priest," she said, ' k and leave me alone 
 with him." 
 
 They did so, and withdrew. 
 
 " My lather," she said to the priest so suddenly 
 called to her, "in my childhood, an old man, white- 
 haired like yourself, used to tell me that God would 
 grant all things to those who had faith. Is that true? " 
 
 " It is true," replied the priest ; 4i all things are possi- 
 ble to Him who created all." 
 
 Mademoiselle de ^ 7 'erneuil threw herself on her knees 
 before him with incredible enthusiasm. 
 
 " Oh, my God ! " she cried in ecstasy, " my faith in 
 thee is equal to my love for him ; inspire me ! do here 
 a miracle, or take my life ! " 
 
 " Your prayer will be granted," said the priest. 
 
 Marie returned to the salon leaning on the arm of 
 the venerable old man. A deep and secret emotion 
 brought her to the arms of her lover more brilliant than 
 on an}' of her past days, for a serenity like that which 
 painters give to the martyrs added to her face an im- 
 posing dignity. She held out her hand to the marquis 
 and together they advanced to the altar and knelt dow r n. 
 The marriage about to be celebrated beside the nup- 
 tial bed, the altar hastily raised, the cross, the vessels, 
 the chalice, secretly brought thither by the priest, the 
 fumes of incense rising to the ceiling, the priest himself, 
 who wore a stole above his cassock, the tapers on an 
 altar in a salon, all these things combined to form 
 a strange and touching scene, which typified those times
 
 376 The Chouans. 
 
 of saddest memory, when civil discord overthrew all 
 sacred institutions. Religious ceremonies then had the 
 savor of the mysteries. Children were baptized in the 
 chambers where the mothers were still groaning from 
 their labor. As in the olden time, the Saviour went, 
 poor and lowly, to console the dying. Young girls re- 
 ceived their first communion in the home where the}' 
 had played since infancy. The marriage of the marquis 
 and Mademoiselle de Verneuil was now solemnized, 
 like man}' other unions, by a service contrary to the 
 recent legal enactments. In after years these mar- 
 riages, mostly celebrated at the foot of oaks, were 
 scrupulously recognized and considered legal. The 
 priest who thus preserved the ancient usages was one 
 of those men who hold to their principles in the height 
 of the storm. His voice, which never made the oath 
 exacted by the Republic, uttered no word throughout 
 the tempest that did not make for peace. lie never in- 
 cited, like the Abbe Gudin, to fire and sword ; but like 
 many others, he devoted himself to the still more dan- 
 gerous mission of performing his priestly functions for 
 the souls of faithful Catholics. To accomplish this peri- 
 lous ministry he used all the pious deceptions necessi- 
 tated by persecution, and the marquis, when he sought 
 his services on this occasion, had found him in one of 
 those excavated caverns which are known, even to the 
 present day, by the name of "the priest's hiding- 
 place." The mere sight of that pale and suffering face 
 was enough to give this worldly room a holy aspect. 
 
 All was now ready for the act of misery and of joy. 
 Before beginning the ceremony the priest asked, in the 
 dead silence, the names of the bride. 
 
 " Marie-Kathalie, daughter of Mademoiselle Blanche
 
 The Chouans. 377 
 
 de Caste" ran, abbess, deceased, of Notre-Dame de Se'ez, 
 and Victor- Ame"d4e, Due de Verneuil." 
 
 "Where born?" 
 
 " At La Chasterie, near Alen^on." 
 
 " I never supposed, 1 ' said the baron in a low voice to 
 the count, ''that Montauran would have the folly to 
 marry her. The natural daughter of a duke ! horrid ! " 
 
 "If it were of the king, well and good," replied the 
 Comte de Bauvan, smiling. " However, it is not for me 
 to blame him ; I like Charette's mistress full as well ; 
 and I shall transfer the war to her though she 's not 
 one to bill and coo." 
 
 The names of the marquis had been filled in previ- 
 ously, and the two lovers now signed the document 
 with their witnesses. The ceremony then began. At 
 that instant Marie, and she alone, heard the sound of 
 muskets and the heavy tread of soldiers, no doubt re- 
 lieving the guard in the church which she had herself 
 demanded. She trembled violently and raised her eyes 
 to the cross on the altar. 
 
 " A saint at last," said Francine, in a low voice. 
 
 " Give me such saints, and I '11 be devilishly devout," 
 added the count, in a whisper. 
 
 When the priest made the customary inquiry of Made- 
 moiselle de Verneuil, she answered by a "yes" uttered 
 with a deep sigh. Bending to her husband's ear she 
 said: "You will soon know why I have broken the 
 oath I made never to marry you." 
 
 After the ceremony all present passed into the dining- 
 room, where dinner was served, and as they took their 
 places Jremie, Marie's footman, came into the room 
 terrified. The poor bride rose and went to him ; Fran- 
 cine followed her. With one of those pretexts which
 
 378 TJie Chouans. 
 
 never fail a woman, she begged the marquis to do the 
 honors for a moment, and went out, taking Jeremie with 
 her before he could utter the fatal words. 
 
 " Ah ! Franeine, to be dying a thousand deaths and 
 not to die ! " she cried. 
 
 This absence might well be supposed to have its 
 cause in the ceremony that had just taken place. 
 Towards the end of the dinner, as the marquis was be- 
 ginning to feel uneas}', Marie returned in all the pomp 
 of a bridal robe. Her face was calm and joyful, while 
 that of Franeine who followed her had terror imprinted 
 on every feature, so that the guests might well have 
 thought they saw in these two women a fantastic pic- 
 ture by Salvator Rosa, of Life and Death holding each 
 other by the hand. 
 
 " Gentlemen," said Marie to the priest, the baron, and 
 the count, "you are my guests for the night. I find 
 you cannot leave Fougeres ; it would be dangerous to 
 attempt it. My good maid has instructions to make 
 you comfortable in your apartments. No, you must 
 not rebel," she added to the priest, who was about to 
 speak. " I hope you will not thwart a woman on her 
 wedding-day." 
 
 An hour later she was alone with her husband in the 
 room she had so joyously arranged a few hours earlier. 
 They had reached that fatal bed where, like a tomb, so 
 many hopes are wrecked, where the waking to a happy 
 life is all uncertain, where love is born or dies, accord- 
 ing to the natures that are tried there. Marie looked 
 at the clock. " Six hours to live." she murmured. 
 
 "Can I have slept?'" she cried towards morning, 
 wakening with one of those sudden movements which 
 rouse us wheu we have made ourselves a promise tp
 
 The Chouans. 379 
 
 wake at a certain hour. " Yes, I have slept," she 
 thought, seeing by the light of the candles that the 
 hands of the clock were pointing to two in the morning. 
 She turned and looked at the sleeping marquis, lying 
 like a child with his head on one hand, the other clasp- 
 ing his wife's hand, his lips half smiling as though he 
 had fallen asleep while she kissed him. 
 
 " Ah!" she whispered to herself, "he sleeps like an 
 infant; he does not distrust me me, to whom he has 
 given a happiness without a name." 
 
 She touched him softby and he woke, continuing to 
 smile. He kissed the hand he held and looked at the 
 wretched woman with eyes so sparkling that she could 
 not endure their light and slowly lowered her large eye- 
 lids. Her husband might justly have accused her of 
 coquetry if she were not concealing the terrors of her 
 soul by thus evading the fire of his looks. Together 
 they raised their charming heads and made each other 
 a sign of gratitude for the pleasures they had tasted ; 
 but after a rapid glance at the beautiful picture his wife 
 presented, the marquis was struck with an expression 
 on her face which seemed to him melancholy, and he 
 said in a tender voice, " Why sad, dear love? " 
 
 "Poor Alphonse," she answered, "do you know to 
 what I have led you?" 
 
 " To happiness." 
 
 " To death ! " 
 
 Shuddering with horror she sprang from the bed ; 
 the marquis, astonished, followed her. His wife mo- 
 tioned him to a window and raised the curtain, pointing 
 as she did so to a score of soldiers. The moon had 
 scattered the fog and was now casting her white light 
 on the muskets and the uniforms, on the impassible
 
 380 The 'Chouans. 
 
 Corentin pacing up and down like a jackal waiting for 
 bis prey, on the commandant standing still, his arms 
 crossed, his nose in the air, his lips curling, watchful 
 and displeased. 
 
 " Come, Marie, leave them and come back to rne." 
 
 " Why do you smile? I placed them there." 
 
 " You are dreaming." 
 
 "No." 
 
 The}' looked at each other for a moment. The mar- 
 quis divined the whole truth, and he took her in his 
 arms. " No matter ! " he said, " I love you still." 
 
 "All is not lost!" cried Marie, "it cannot be! 
 Alphonse," she said after a pause, "there is hope." 
 
 At this moment they distinctly heard the owl's cry, 
 and Francine entered from the dressing-room. 
 
 "Pierre has come! " she said with a joy that was 
 like delirium. 
 
 The marquise and Francine dressed Montauran in 
 Chouan clothes with that amazing rapidity that belongs 
 only to women. As soon as Marie saw her husband 
 loading the gun Francine had brought in she slipped 
 hastily from the room with a sign to her faithful maid. 
 Francine then took the marquis to the dressing-room 
 adjoining the bed-chamber. The young man seeing a 
 large number of sheets knotted firmly together, per- 
 ceived the means by which the girl expected him to 
 escape the vigilance of the soldiers. 
 
 " I can't get through there," he said, examining the 
 bull's-eye window. 
 
 At that instant it was darkened by a thickset figure, 
 and a hoarse voice, known to Francine, said in a whis- 
 per, " Make haste, general, those rascally Blues are 
 stirring."
 
 The Chouans. 381 
 
 "Oh! one more kiss," said a trembling voice beside 
 him. 
 
 The marquis, whose feet were already on the liberat- 
 ing ladder, though he was not wholly through the win- 
 dow, felt his neck clasped with a despairing pressure. 
 Seeing that his wife had put on his clothes, he tried to 
 detain her ; but she tore herself roughly from his 
 arms and he was forced to descend. In his hand he 
 held a fragment of some stuff which the moonlight 
 showed him was a piece of the waistcoat he had worn 
 the night before. 
 
 "Halt! fire!" 
 
 These words uttered by Hnlot in the midst of a silence 
 that was almost horrible broke the spell which seemed 
 to hold the men and their surroundings. A volley of 
 balls coming from the valley and reaching to the foot of 
 the tower succeeded the discharges of the Blues posted 
 on the Promenade. The fire of the Republicans was un- 
 remitting. Not a cry came from the Chouans. Between 
 each discharge the silence was frightful. 
 
 But Corentin had heard a fall from the ladder on the 
 precipice side of the tower, and he suspected some ruse. 
 
 " None of those animals are growling," he said to 
 Hulot; "our lovers are capable of fooling us on this 
 side, and escaping themselves on the other." 
 
 The spy, to clear up the mystery, sent for torches ; 
 Hulot, understanding the force of Corentin's supposition, 
 and hearing the noise of a serious struggle in the di- 
 rection of the Porte Saint-Leonard, rushed to the 
 guard-house exclaiming: "That's true, the}' won't 
 separate." 
 
 " His head is well riddled, commandant," said Beau- 
 Pied, who was the first to meet him, "but he killed
 
 382 The Chouans. 
 
 Gudin, and wounded two men. Ha ! the savage ; he 
 got through three ranks of our best men and would 
 have reached the fields if it had n't been for the sentry 
 at the gate who spitted him on his bayonet." 
 
 The commandant rushed into the guard-room and saw 
 on a camp bedstead a bloody body which had just been 
 laid there. He went up to the supposed marquis, 
 raised the hat which covered the face, and fell into a 
 chair. 
 
 "I suspected it!" he cried, crossing his arms vio- 
 lently ; " she kept him, cursed thunder ! too long." 
 
 The soldiers stood about, motionless. The com- 
 mandant himself unfastened the long black hair of a 
 woman. Suddenly the silence was broken by the 
 tramp of men and Corentin entered the guardroom, 
 preceding four soldiers who bore on their guns, crossed 
 to make a litter, the body of Montauran, who was shot 
 in the thighs and arms. They laid him on the bedstead 
 beside his wife. He saw her. and found strength to 
 clasp her hand with a convulsive gesture. The dying 
 woman turned her head, recognized her husband, 
 and shuddered with a spasm that was horrible to see, 
 murmuring in a voice almost extinct: "A day with- 
 out a morrow ! God hoard me too well." 
 
 " Commandant," said the marquis, collecting all his 
 strength, and still holding Marie's hand, tl l count 
 on your honor to send the news of my death to my 
 young brother, who is now in London. Write him 
 that if he wishes to obey my last injunction he will 
 never bear arms against his country neither must he 
 abandon the king's service." 
 
 " It shall be done," said Ilulot, pressing the hand of 
 the dying man.
 
 The Chouans. 383 
 
 "Take thorn to the nearest hospital," cried Corentin. 
 
 llulot took the spy by the arm with a grip that left 
 the imprint of his fingers on the flesh. 
 
 "Out of this camp!" he cried ; "your business is 
 done here. Look well at the face of Commander llulot, 
 and never find yourself again in his way if you don't 
 want your belly to be the scabbard of his blade " 
 
 And the old soldier flourished his sabre. 
 
 "That's another of the honest men who will never 
 make their way," said Corentin to himself when he was 
 some distance from the guardroom. 
 
 The marquis was still able to thank his gallant ad- 
 versary by a look marking the respect which all soldiers 
 feel for loyal enemies. 
 
 In 1827 an old man accompanied by his wife was 
 buying cattle in the market-place of Fougeres. Few 
 persons remembered that he had killed a hundred or 
 more men, and that his former name was Marche-a- 
 Terre. A person to whom we owe important informa- 
 tion about all the personages of this drama saw him 
 there, leading a cow, and was struck \)y his simple, in- 
 genuous air, which led her to remark, " That must be 
 a worthy man." 
 
 As for Cibot, otherwise called Pille-Miche, we already 
 know his end. It is likely that Marche-a-Terre made 
 some attempt to save his comrade from the scaffold ; pos- 
 sibly he was in the square at Alencon on the occasion 
 of the frightful tumult which was one of the events of the 
 famous trial of Rifoel, Briond, and la Chanterie.
 
 A PASSION IN THE DESERT.
 
 A PASSION IN THE DESERT. 
 
 " THE sight was fearful!" she exclaimed, as we left 
 the menagerie of Monsieur Martin. 
 
 She had been watching that daring speculator as he 
 went through his wonderful performance in the den of 
 the hyena. 
 
 " How is it possible," she continued, " to tame those 
 animals so as to be certain that he can trust them? " 
 
 " You think it a problem." I answered, interrupting 
 her, " and yet It is a natural fact." 
 
 " Oh!" she cried, an incredulous smile flickering on 
 her lip. 
 
 " Do you think that beasts are devoid of passions? " 
 I asked. " Let me assure you that we teach them all the 
 vices and virtues of our own state of civilization." 
 
 She looked at me in amazement. 
 
 " The first time I saw Monsieur Martin," I added, " I 
 exclaimed, as you do, with surprise. I happened to be 
 sitting beside an old soldier whose right leg was ampu- 
 tated, and whose appearance had attracted my notice as 
 I entered the building. His face, stamped with the scars 
 of battle, wore the undaunted look of a veteran of the 
 wars of Napoleon. Moreover, the old hero had a frank 
 and joyous manner which attracts me wherever I meet it. 
 He was, doubtless, one of those old campaigners whom 
 nothing can surprise, who find something to laugh at in 
 the last contortions of a comrade, and will bury a friend
 
 388 A Passion in the Desert. 
 
 or rifle his body gayly ; challenging bullets with indiffer- 
 ence ; making short shrift for themselves or otjiers ; and, 
 fraternizing, as a usual tiling, with the devil. After look- 
 ing very attentively at the proprietor of the menagerie, 
 as he entered the den, my companion curled his lip with 
 that expression of satirical contempt which well-in- 
 formed men sometimes put on to mark the difference 
 between themselves and dupes. As I uttered 1113* ex- 
 clamation of surprise at the coolness and courage of 
 Monsieur Martin, the old soldier smiled, shook his 
 head, and said with a knowing glance, 'An old story ! ' 
 
 " ' How do you mean, an old story? ' I asked. ' If 
 you could explain the secret of this mysterious power, 
 I should be greatly obliged to 3*011.' 
 
 " After a while, during which we became better ac- 
 quainted, we went to dine at the first restaurant we 
 could find after leaving the menagerie. A bottle of 
 champagne with our dessert brightened the recollections 
 of the old man and made them singularly vivid. lie 
 related to me a circumstance in his earby history which 
 proved that he had ample cause to pronounce Monsieur 
 Martin's performance ' an old story.' " 
 
 When we reached her house, she was so persuasive 
 and captivating, and made me so 11111113* P re tty promises, 
 that I consented to write down for her benefit the stoiy 
 told me b3' the old hero. On the following day I sent 
 her this episode of an historical epic, which might be 
 entitled, "The French in Egypt." 
 
 At the time of General Desaix's expedition to Upper 
 Eg3*pt a Provencal soldier, who had Aillen into the hands
 
 A Passion in the Desert. 889 
 
 of the Maugrabins, was marched by those tireless Arabs 
 across the desert which lies beyond the cataracts of the 
 Nile. To put sufficient distance between themselves 
 and the French army and thus insure their safet}", the 
 Mangrabins made a forced march, and did not halt un- 
 til after nightfall. They then camped about a well 
 shaded with palm-trees, near which they had previously 
 buried a stock of provisions. Not dreaming that the 
 thought of escape could enter their captive's mind, they 
 merely bound his wrists, and lay down to sleep them- 
 selves, after eating a few dates and giving their horses 
 a feed of barley. When the bold Provencal saw his 
 enemies too soundly asleep to watch him, he used his 
 teeth to pick up a scimitar, with which, steadying the 
 blade by means of his knees, he contrived to cut through 
 the cord which bound his hands, and thus recovered 
 his libert}'. He at once seized a carbine and a pon- 
 iard, took the precaution to lay in a supply of dates, a 
 small bag of barley, some powder and ball, buckled on 
 the scimitar, mounted one of the horses, and spurred 
 him in the direction where he supposed the French army 
 to be. Impatient to meet the outposts, he pressed the 
 horse, which was already wearied, so severely that the 
 poor animal fell dead with his flanks torn, leaving the 
 Frenchman alone in the midst of the desert. 
 
 After marching for a long time through the sand with 
 the dogged courage of an escaping galley-slave, the sol- 
 dier was forced to halt as the darkness drew on ; for 
 his utter weariness compelled him to rest, though the ex- 
 quisite sky of an Eastern night might well have tempted 
 him to continue the journey. Happily he had reached a 
 slight elevation, at the top of which a few palm-trees
 
 390 A Passion in the Desert. 
 
 shot upward, whose leafage, seen from a long distance 
 against the sky, had helped to sustain his hopes. His 
 fatigue was so great that he threw himself down on a 
 block of granite, cut by Nature into the shape of a camp- 
 bed, and slept heavily, without taking the least precau- 
 tion to protect himself while asleep. lie accepted the 
 loss of his life as inevitable, and his last waking thought 
 was one of regret for having left the Maugrabins, 
 whose nomad life began to charm him now that he 
 was far away from them and from every other hope 
 of succor. 
 
 He was wakened by the sun, whose pitiless beams 
 falling vertically upon the granite rock produced an in- 
 tolerable heat. The Proven$al had ignorantly flung 
 himself down in a contrary direction to the shadows 
 thrown by the verdant and majestic fronds of the palm- 
 trees. He gazed at these solitary monarchs and shud- 
 dered. The}- recalled to his mind the graceful shafts 
 crowned with long weaving leaves which distinguish the 
 Saracenic columns of the cathedral of Aries. The thought 
 overcame him, and when, after counting the trees, he 
 threw his e^-es upon the scene around him, an agon}- of 
 despair convulsed his soul. He saw a limitless ocean. 
 The sombre sands of the desert stretched out till lost to 
 sight in all directions ; they glittered with dark lustre 
 like a steel blade shining in the sun. He could not tell 
 if it were an ocean or a chain of lakes that lay mirrored 
 before him. A hot vapor swept in waves above the 
 surface of this heaving continent. The sky had the Ori- 
 ental glow of translucent purity which disappoints be- 
 cause it leaves nothing for the imagination to desire. 
 The heavens and the earth were both on fire. Silence
 
 A Passion in the Desert. 391 
 
 added its awful and desolate majesty. Infinitude, im 
 mensit}' pressed down upon the soul on every side ; not 
 a cloud in the sky, not a breath in the air, not a rift on 
 the breast of the sand, which was ruffled only with little 
 ridges scarcely rising above its surface. Far as the eye 
 could reach the horizon fell away into space, marked by 
 a slender line, slim as the edge of a sabre, like as in 
 summer seas a thread of light parts this earth from the 
 heaven it meets. 
 
 The Provencal clasped the trunk of a palm-tree as if 
 it were the body of a friend. Sheltered from the sun 
 by its straight and slender shadow, he wept ; and pres- 
 ently sitting down he remained motionless, contemplat- 
 ing with awful dread the implacable nature stretched 
 out before him. He cried aloud, as if to tempt the sol- 
 itude to answer him. His voice, lost in the hollows of 
 the hillock, sounded afar with a thin resonance that 
 returned no echo ; the echo came from the soldier's 
 heart. He was twenty-two years old, and he loaded his 
 carbine. 
 
 ' ' Time enough ! " he muttered, as he put the liber- 
 ating weapon on the sand beneath him. 
 
 Gazing by turns at the burnished blackness of the 
 sand and the blue expanse of the sky, the soldier 
 dreamed of France. He smelt in fancy the gutters of 
 Paris ; he remembered the towns through which he had 
 passed, the faces of his comrades, and the most trifling 
 incidents of his life. His southern imagination saw 
 the pebbles of his own Provence in the undulating play 
 of the heated air, as it seemed to roughen the far-reach- 
 ing surface of the desert. Dreading the dangers of this 
 
 O C7 CJ 
 
 cruel mirage, he went down the little hill on the sido
 
 392 A Passion in the Desert. 
 
 opposite to that by which he had gone up the night before. 
 His jo}' was great when he discovered a natural grotto, 
 formed by the immense blocks of granite which made a 
 foundation for the rising ground. The remnants of a 
 mat showed that the place had once been inhabited, 
 and close to the entrance were a few palm-trees loaded 
 with fruit. The instinct which binds men to life woke 
 in his heart. He now hoped to live until some Maugra- 
 bin should pass that wa}- ; possibly he might even hear 
 the roar of cannon, for Bonaparte was at that time 
 overrunning Egypt. Encouraged b}* these thoughts, 
 the Frenchman shook down a cluster of the ripe fruit 
 under the weight of which the palms were bending ; and 
 as he tasted this unhoped-for manna, he thanked the 
 former inhabitant of the grotto for the cultivation of the 
 trees, which the rich and luscious flesh of the fruit amply 
 attested. Like a true Provencal, he passed from the 
 gloom of despair to a joy that was half insane. He ran 
 back to the top of the hill, and busied himself for the 
 rest of the day in cutting down one of the sterile trees 
 which had been his shelter the night before. 
 
 Some vague recollection made him think of the wild 
 beasts of the desert, and foreseeing that they would come 
 to drink at a spring which bubbled through the sand at 
 the foot of the rock, lie resolved to protect his hermitage 
 by felling a tree across the entrance. Notwithstanding 
 his eagerness, and the strength which the fear of being 
 attacked while asleep gave to his muscles, he was un- 
 able to cut the palm-tree in pieces during the day ; 
 but he succeeded in bringing it down. Towards even- 
 ing the king of the desert fell ; and the noise of his 
 fall, echoing far, was like a moan from the breast of
 
 -1 Passion in the Desert. 393 
 
 Solitude. The soldier shuddered, as though he had 
 heard a voice predicting evil. ]>ut. like an heir who does 
 not long mourn a parent, he stripped i'roin the beauti- 
 ful tree the arching green fronds its poetical adorn- 
 ment and made a bed of them in his refuge. Then, 
 tired with his work and by the heat of the day, he fell 
 asleep beneath the red vault of the grotto. 
 
 In the middle of the night his sleep was broken by a 
 strange noise. He sat up ; the deep silence that reigned 
 everywhere enabled him to hear the alternating iii3'tlim 
 of a respiration whose savage vigor could not belong to 
 a human being. A terrible fear, increased by the dark- 
 ness, by the silence, by the rush of his waking fancies, 
 numbed his heart. He felt the contraction of his hair, 
 which rose on end as his eyes, dilating to their full 
 strength, beheld through the darkness two faint amber 
 lights. At first he thought them an optical delusion ; 
 but by degrees the clearness of the night enabled him to 
 distinguish objects in the grotto, and he saw, within two 
 feet of him, an enormous animal lying at rest. 
 
 Was it a lion? Was it a tiger? Was it a crocodile? 
 The Provencal had not enough education to know in 
 what snb-specics he ought to class the intruder ; but his 
 terror was all the greater because his ignorance made it 
 vague. He endured the cruel trial of listening, of striv- 
 ing to catch the peculiarities of this breathing without 
 losing one of its inllections, and without daring to make 
 the slightest movement. A strong odor, like that ex- 
 haled by foxes, only far more pungent and penetrating, 
 filled the grotto. When the soldier had tasted it, so to 
 speak, by the nose, his fear became terror ; he could no 
 longer doubt the nature of the terrible companion whose
 
 39-4 A Passion in the Desert. 
 
 royal lair he had taken for a bivouac. Before long, the 
 reflection of the moon, as it sank to the horizon, lighted 
 up the den and gleamed upon the shining, spotted skin 
 of a panther. 
 
 The lion of Egypt lay asleep, curled up like a dog, 
 the peaceable possessor of a kennel at the gate of a 
 mansion ; its eyes, which had opened for a moment, 
 were now closed ; its head was turned towards the 
 Frenchman. A hundred conflicting thoughts rushed 
 through the mind of the panther's prisoner. Should 
 he kill it with a shot from his musket? But ere the 
 thought was formed, he saw there was no room to take 
 aim ; the muzzle would have gone beyond the animal. 
 Suppose he were to wake it? The fear kept him motion- 
 less. As he heard the beating of his heart through the 
 dead silence, he cursed the strong pulsations of his vig- 
 orous blood, lest the}' should disturb the sleep which 
 gave him time to think and plan for safety. Twice he 
 put his hand on his scimitar, with the idea of striking off 
 the head of his enemy ; but the difficulty of cutting 
 through the close-haired skin made him renounce the 
 bold attempt. Suppose lie missed his aim? It would, 
 he knew, be certain death. He preferred the chances 
 of a struggle, and resolved to await the dawn. It was 
 not long in coming. As daylight broke, the French- 
 man was able to examine the animal. Its muzzle was 
 stained with blood. " It has eaten a good meal," 
 thought he, not caring whether the feast were human 
 flesh or not ; "it will not be hungry when it wakes." 
 
 It was a female. The fur on the belly and on the 
 thighs was of sparkling whiteness. Several little spots 
 like velvet made pretty bracelets round her paws. The
 
 A Passion in the Desert. 395 
 
 muscular tail was also white, but it terminated with black 
 rings. The fur of the back, yellow as dead gold and 
 very soft and gloss}', bore the characteristic spots, 
 shaded like a full-blown rose, which distinguish the 
 panther from all other species of fdis. This terrible 
 hostess lay tranquilly snoring, in an attitude as easy 
 and graceful as that of a cat on the cushions of an otto- 
 man. Her bloody paws, sinewy and well-armed, were 
 stretched beyond her head, which lay upon them ; and 
 from her muzzle projected a few straight hairs called 
 whiskers, which shimmered in the earl}' light like silver 
 wires. If he had seen her lying thus imprisoned in a 
 cage, the Provencal would have admired the creature's 
 grace, and the strong contrasts of vivid color which 
 gave to her robe an imperial splendor ; but as it was, 
 his sight was jaundiced by sinister forebodings. The 
 presence of the panther, though she was still asleep, had 
 the same effect upon his mind as the magnetic eyes of a 
 snake produce, we are told, upon the nightingale. The 
 soldier's courage oozed away in presence of this silent 
 peril, though he was a man who gathered nerve before 
 the mouths of cannon belching grape-shot. And }"et, 
 ere long, a bold thought entered his mind, and checked 
 the cold sweat which was rolling from his brow. Roused 
 to action, as some men are when, driven face to face 
 with death, they defy it and offer themselves to their 
 doom, he saw a traged}' before him, and he resolved to 
 play his part with honor to the last. 
 
 " Yesterday," he said, " the Arabs might have killed 
 me." 
 
 Regarding himself as dead, he waited bravely, but 
 with anxious curiosity, for the waking of his enemy.
 
 396 A Passion in the Desert. 
 
 When the sun rose, the panther suddenly opened her 
 eves ; then she stretched her paws violently, as if to un- 
 limber them from the cramp of their position. Pres- 
 ently she yawned and showed the frightful armament of 
 her teeth, and her cloven tongue, rough as a grater. 
 
 " She is like a dainty woman," thought the French- 
 man, watching her as she rolled and turned on her side 
 with an easy and coquettish movement. She licked the 
 blood from her paws, and rubbed her head with a reit- 
 erated movement full of grace. 
 
 " Well done ! dress yourself prettily, my little woman," 
 said the Frenchman, who recovered his gayet}' as soon 
 as he had recovered his courage. "We are going to 
 bid each other good-morning ; " and he felt for the short 
 poniard which he had taken from the Maugrabins. 
 
 At this instant the panther turned her head towards 
 the Frenchman and looked at him fixedly, without mov- 
 ing. The rigidity of her metallic eyes and their insup- 
 portable clearness made the Provencal shudder. The 
 beast moved towards him ; he looked at her caressingly, 
 with a soothing glance by which he hoped to magnetize 
 her. lie let her come quite close to him before he 
 stirred ; then, with a touch as gentle and loving as he 
 might have used to a pretty woman, he slid his hand 
 along her spine from the head to the flanks, scratching 
 with his nails the flexible vertcbne which divide the 
 yellow back of a panther. The creature drew up her 
 tail voluptuously, her c}-cs softened, and when for the 
 third time the Frenchman bestowed this self-interested 
 caress, she gave vent to a pun 1 like that with which a 
 cat expresses pleasure ; but it issued from a throat so 
 deep and powerful that the sound echoed through the
 
 A Passion in the Desert. 397 
 
 grotto like the last chords of an organ rolling along the 
 roof of a church. The Provencal, perceiving the value 
 of his caresses, redoubled them, until they had com- 
 pletely soothed and lulled the imperious courtesan. 
 
 When he felt that he had subdued the ferocity of his 
 capricious companion, whose hunger had so fortunately 
 been appeased the night before, he rose to leave the 
 grotto. The panther let him go ; but as soon as he 
 reached the top of the little lull she bounded after him 
 with the lightness of a bird hopping from branch to 
 branch, and rubbed against his legs, arching her back 
 with the gesture of a domestic cat. Then looking at 
 her guest with an eye that was growing less inflexible, 
 she uttered the savage cry which naturalists liken to the 
 noise of a saw. 
 
 " My lady is exacting." cried the Frenchman, smiling. 
 lie began to play with her ears and stroke her belly, 
 and at last he scratched her head firmly with his nails. 
 Encouraged by success, he tickled her skull with the 
 point of his dagger, looking for the right spot where to 
 stab her ; but the hardness of the bone made him pause, 
 dreading failure. 
 
 The sultana of the desert acknowledged the talents of 
 her slave by lifting her head and swaying her neck to 
 his caresses. In-fraying satisfaction by the tranquillity of 
 her relaxed attitude. The Frenchman suddenly per- 
 ceived that he could assassinate the fierce princess at a 
 blow, if he struck her in the throat ; and he had raised 
 the weapon, when the panther, surfeited perhaps with 
 his caresses, threw herself gracefully at his feet, glanc- 
 ing up at him with a look in which, despite her natural 
 ferocity, a flicker of kindness could be seen. The poor
 
 398 A Passion in the Desert. 
 
 Provencal, frustrated for the moment, ate his dates as 
 he leaned against a palm-tree, casting from time to time 
 an interrogating eye across the desert in the hope of 
 discerning rescue from afar, and then lowering it upon 
 his terrible companion, to watch the chances of her un- 
 certain clemency. Each time that he threw away a 
 date-stone the panther eyed the spot where it fell with 
 an expression of keen distrust ; and she examined the 
 Frenchman with what might be called commercial pru- 
 dence. The examination, however, seemed favorable, 
 for when the man had finished his meagre meal she 
 licked his shoes and wiped oft' the dust, which was caked 
 into the folds of the leather, with her rough and power- 
 ful tongue. 
 
 " How will it be when she is hungry? " thought the 
 Provencal. In spite of the shudder which this reflection 
 cost him, his attention was attracted by the symmetrical 
 proportions of the animal, and he began to measure them 
 with his eye. She was three feet in height to the shoul- 
 der, and four feet long, not including the tail. That 
 powerful weapon, which was round as a club, meas- 
 ured three feet. The head, as large as that of a lioness, 
 was remarkable for an expression of crafty intelligence ; 
 the cold cruelty of a tiger was its ruling trait, and yet 
 it bore a vague resemblance to the face of an artful wo- 
 man. As the soldier watched her, the countenance of 
 this solitary queen shone with savage gayety like that of 
 Nero in his cups : she had slaked her thirst for blood, 
 and now wished for play. The Frenchman tried to come 
 and go. and accustom her to his movements. The pan- 
 ther left him free, as if contented to follow him with her 
 eyes, seeming, however, less like a faithful dog watching
 
 A Passion in the Desert. 399 
 
 his master's movements with affection, than a huge 
 Angora cat uneasy and suspicious of them. A few steps 
 brought him to the spring, where he saw the carcass of 
 his horse, which the panther had evidently carried there. 
 Only two thirds was eaten. The sight reassured the 
 Frenchman ; for it explained the absence of his terrible 
 companion and the forbearance which she had shown to 
 him while asleep. 
 
 This first good luck encouraged the reckless soldier 
 as he thought of the future. The wild idea of making 
 a home with the panther until some chance of escape 
 occurred entered his mind, and he resolved to try every 
 means of taming her and of turning her good-will to 
 account. With these thoughts he returned to her side, 
 and noticed joyfully that she moved her tail with an 
 almost imperceptible motion. lie sat down beside her 
 fearlessly, and they began to play with each other. He 
 held her paws and her muzzle, twisted her ears, threw 
 her over on her back, and stroked her soft, warm flanks. 
 She allowed him to do so ; and when he began to smooth 
 the fur of her paws, she care full}' drew in her murder- 
 ous claws, which were sharp and curved like a Damascus 
 blade. The Frenchman kept one hand on his dagger, 
 again watching his opportunity to plunge it into the 
 belly of the too-confiding beast ; but the fear that she 
 might strangle him in her last convulsions once more 
 stayed his hand. Moreover, he felt in his heart a fore- 
 boding of remorse which warned him not to destroy a 
 hitherto inoffensive creature. He even fancied that 
 he had found a friend in the limitless desert. His 
 mind turned back, involuntarily, to his first mistress, 
 whom he had named in derision ' Mignonne," because
 
 400 A Passion in the Desert. 
 
 her jealousy was so furious that throughout the whole 
 period of their intercourse he lived in dread of the knife 
 with which she threatened him. This recollection of 
 his youth suggested the idea of teaching the young pan- 
 ther, whose soft agility and grace he now admired with 
 less terror, to answer to the caressing name. Towards 
 evening he had grown so familiar with his perilous 
 position that he was half in love with its dangers, and 
 his companion was so far tamed that she had caught 
 the habit of turning to him when he called, in falsetto 
 tones, " Mignonne ! " 
 
 As the sun went down Mignonne uttered at intervals 
 a prolonged, deep, melancholy cry. 
 
 " She is well brought up," thought the gay soldier. 
 " She says her prayers." But the jest only came into 
 his mind as he watched the peaceful attitude of his com- 
 rade. 
 
 " Come, my pretty blonde, I will let you go to bed 
 first," he said, relying on the activity of his legs to get 
 awa} r as soon as she fell asleep, and trusting to find 
 some other resting-place for the night. He waited 
 anxiously for the right moment, and when it came he 
 started vigorously in the direction of the Nile. But he 
 had scarcely marched for half an hour through the sand 
 before he heard the panther bounding after him, giving 
 at intervals the saw-like cr}' which was more terrible to 
 hear than the thud of her bounds. 
 
 "Well, well !" he cried, '-she must have fallen in 
 love with me ! Perhaps she has never met airy one else. 
 It is flattering to be her first love." 
 
 So thinking, he fell into one of the treacherous quick- 
 sands which deceive the inexperienced traveller in the
 
 A Passion in the Desert. 401 
 
 desert, and from which there is seldom an}' escape. Ho 
 felt he was sinking, and he uttered a cry of despair. 
 The panther seized him by the collar with her teeth, 
 and sprang vigorously backward, drawing him, like 
 magic, from the sucking sand. 
 
 "Ah, Mignonne!" cried the soldier, kissing her 
 with enthusiasm, " we belong to each other now, for 
 life, for death ! But play me no tricks," he added, as 
 he turned back the way he came. 
 
 From that moment the desert was, as it were, peopled 
 for him. It held a being to whom he could talk, and 
 whose ferocity was now lulled into gentleness, although 
 he could scarcely explain to himself the reasons for this 
 extraordinary friendship. His anxiety to keep awake 
 and on his guard succumbed to excessive weariness both 
 of body and mind, and throwing himself down on the 
 floor of the grotto he slept soundly. At his waking 
 Mignonne was gone. He mounted the little hill to scan 
 the horizon, and perceived her in the far distance return- 
 ing with the long bounds peculiar to these animals, who 
 are prevented from running bj- the extreme flexibility of 
 their spinal column. 
 
 Mignonne came home with bloody jaws, and received 
 the tribute of caresses which her slave hastened to pay, all 
 the while manifesting her pleasure b} T reiterated purring. 
 
 Her eyes, now soft and gentle, rested kindly on the 
 Provencal, who spoke to her lovingly as he would to a 
 domestic animal. 
 
 "Ah! Mademoiselle, for you are an honest girl, 
 are you not? You like to be petted, don't you? Are 
 you not ashamed of yourself? You have been eating a 
 Maugrabin. "Well, well ! they are animals like the rest 
 
 20
 
 402 A Passion in the Desert. 
 
 of you. But }X)u are not to craunch up a Frenchman ; 
 remember that ! If you do, I will not love }'ou." 
 
 She played like a young dog with her master, and let 
 him roll her over and pat and stroke her, and sometimes 
 she would coax him to play by laying a paw upon his 
 knee with a pretty soliciting gesture. 
 
 Several days passed rapidly. This strange compan- 
 ionship revealed to the ProvenQal the sublime beauties 
 of the desert. The alternations of hope and fear, the 
 sufficiency of food, the presence of a creature who occu- 
 pied his thoughts, all this kept his mind alert, yet free : 
 it was a life full of strange contrasts. Solitude revealed 
 to him her secrets, and wrapped him with her charm. 
 In the rising and the setting of the sun he saw splen- 
 dors unknown to the world of men. He quivered as 
 he listened to the soft whirring of the wings of a bird, 
 rare visitant ! or watched the blending of the fleeting 
 clouds, those changeful and many-tinted vo3*agers. 
 In the waking hours of the night he studied the play of 
 the moon upon the sandy ocean, where the strong si- 
 moom had rippled the surface into waves and ever-var}'- 
 ing undulations. He lived in the Eastern day ; he 
 worshipped its marvellous glory. He rejoiced in the 
 grandeur of the storms when they rolled across the vast 
 plain, and tossed the sand upward till it looked like a 
 dry red fog or a solid death-dealing vapor ; and as the 
 night came on he welcomed it with ecstasy, grateful for 
 the blessed coolness of the light of the stars. His ears 
 listened to the music of the skies. Solitude taught him 
 the treasures of meditation. He spent hours in recall- 
 ing trifles, and in comparing his past life with the weird 
 present.
 
 A Passion in the Desert. 403 
 
 He grew fondly attached to his panther ; for he was 
 a man who needed an affection. Whether it were that 
 his own will, magnetically strong, had modified the na- 
 ture of his savage princess, or that the wars then rag- 
 ing in the desert had provided her with an ample sup- 
 ply of food, it is certain that she showed no sign of 
 attacking him, and became so tame that he soon felt no 
 fear of her. He spent much of his time in sleeping ; 
 though with his mind awake, like a spider in its web, 
 lest he should miss some deliverance that might chance 
 to cross the sand}" sphere marked out by the hori- 
 zon. He had made his shirt into a banner and tied 
 it to the top of a palm-tree which he had stripped of 
 its leafage. Taking counsel of necessity, he kept the 
 flag extended by fastening the corners with twigs and 
 wedges ; for the fitful wind might have failed to wave 
 it at the moment when the longed-for succor came in 
 sight. 
 
 Nevertheless, there were Ions: hours of c;loom when 
 
 t O O 
 
 hope forsook him ; and then he played with his panther. 
 He learned to know the different inflections of her voice 
 and the meanings of her expressive glance ; he studied 
 the variegation of the spots which shaded the dead gold 
 of her robe. Mignonne no longer growled when he 
 caught the tuft of her dangerous tail and counted the 
 black and white rings which glittered in the sunlight 
 like a cluster of precious stones. He delighted in the 
 soft lines of her lithe body, the whiteness of her belly, 
 the grace of her charming head : but above all he loved 
 to watch her as she gambolled at play. The agility 
 and youthfulness of her movements were a constantly 
 fresh surprise to him. He admired the suppleness of
 
 404 A Passion in the Desert. 
 
 the flexible body as she bounded, crept, and glided, 
 or clung to the trunk of palm-trees, or rolled over 
 and over, crouching sometimes to the ground, and 
 gathering herself together as she made ready for her 
 vigorous spring. Yet, however vigorous the bound, 
 however slippery the granite block on which she 
 landed, she would stop short, motionless, at the one 
 word " Mignonne." 
 
 One day, under a dazzling sun, a large bird hovered 
 in the sky. The Proven9al left his panther to watch 
 the new guest. After a moment's pause the neglected 
 sultana uttered a low growl. 
 
 " The devil take me ! I believe she is jealous ! " ex- 
 claimed the soldier, observing the rigid look which once 
 more appeared in her metallic eyes. " The soul of 
 Sophronie has got into her bod}' ! " 
 
 The eagle disappeared in ether, and the French- 
 man, recalled by the panther's displeasure, admired 
 afresh her rounded flanks and the perfect grace of her 
 attitude. She was as pretty as a woman. The blonde 
 brightness of her robe shaded, with delicate gradations, 
 to the dead-white tones of her furry thighs ; the vivid 
 sunshine brought out the brilliancy of this living gold 
 and its variegated brown spots with indescribable lustre. 
 The panther and the Provencal gazed at each other with 
 human comprehension. She trembled with delight 
 the coquettish creature ! as she felt the nails of her 
 friend scratching the strong bones of her skull. Her 
 eyes glittered like flashes of lightning, and then she 
 closed them tighth". 
 
 " She has a soul! " cried the soldier, watching the 
 tranquil repose of this sovereign of the desert, golden
 
 A Passion in the Desert. 405 
 
 as the sands, white as their pulsing light, solitary and 
 burning as they. 
 
 " Well," she said, " I have read your defence of the 
 beasts. But tell me what was the end of this friend- 
 ship between two beings so formed to understand each 
 other." 
 
 "Ah, exactly," I replied. "It ended as all great 
 passions end, b}- a misunderstanding. Both sides 
 imagine treachery, pride prevents an explanation, and 
 the rupture comes about through obstinacy." 
 
 " Yes," she said, " and sometimes a word, a look, an 
 exclamation suffices. But tell me the end of the stoiy." 
 
 " That is difficult," I answered. " But I will give it 
 to you in the words of the old veteran, as he finished 
 the bottle of champagne and exclaimed : ' I don't know 
 how I could have hurt her, but she suddenly turned 
 upon me as if in fiuy, and seized my thigh with her 
 sharp teeth ; and yet (as I afterwards remembered) not 
 cruelly. I thought she meant to devour me, and I plunged 
 my dagger into her throat. She rolled over with a cry 
 that froze my soul ; she looked at me in her death- 
 struggle, but without anger. I would have given all 
 the world my cross, which I had not then gained, all, 
 everything to have brought her back to life. It was 
 as if I had murdered a friend, a human being. AVhen 
 the soldiers who saw my flag came to my rescue they 
 found me weeping. Monsieur,' he resumed, after a 
 moment's silence, ' I went through the wars in Ger- 
 maii}', Spain, Russia, France ; I have marched my 
 carcass wellnigh over all the world ; but I have seen
 
 406 A Passion in the Desert. 
 
 nothing comparable to the desert. Ah, it is grand! 
 glorious ! ' 
 
 " ' What were your feelings there? ' I asked. 
 
 " ' They cannot be told, young man. Besides, I do 
 not always regret my panther and my palm-tree oasis : 
 I must be very sad for that. But I will tell you this : 
 in the desert there is all and yet nothing.' 
 
 " ' Stay ! explain that.' 
 
 "'"Well, then,' he said, with a gesture of impatience, 
 4 God is there, and man is not.'" 
 
 THE EXD.
 
 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY, LOS ANGELES 
 
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