LIBRARY 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 SANTA BARBARA 
 
 PRESENTED BY 
 
 Mr. H. H. Kil iani
 
 H. DE BALZAC 
 
 THE COMEDIE HUMAINE

 
 HE SAT HIMSELF DOWN QUIETLY AT THE ROADSIDi
 
 H. DE BALZAC 
 
 THE CHOUANS 
 
 (Les CHOUANS) 
 
 AND 
 
 THE CONSCRIPT 
 
 (LE REQUISITIONAIRE) 
 
 TRANSLATED BY 
 
 ELLEN MARRIAGE 
 
 WITH A PREFACE BY 
 
 GEORGE SAINTSBURY 
 
 PHILADELPHIA 
 
 THE GEBBIE PUBLISHING Co., Ltd. 
 1897
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 PAGK 
 
 PREFACE ix 
 
 THE CHOUANS 
 
 I. THE AMBUSCADE I 
 
 II. A NOTION OF FOUCHE'S 67 
 
 III. A DAY WITHOUT A MORROW 195 
 
 THE CONSCRIPT 367
 
 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 
 
 HE SAT HIMSELF DOWN QUIETLY AT THE ROADSIDE . Frontispiece 
 
 PAGE 
 
 " READ IT," SHE SAID WITH A SARCASTIC SMILE ... 99 
 
 CAME IN SIGHT OF THE CHATEAU OF THE VIVETIERE . . 142 
 
 WENT OUT OF THE TOWN THROUGH THE GATE OF ST. SULPICE . 303 
 
 " CONFESS YOUR SINS TO ME " 324 
 
 Drawn by D. Murray Smith.
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 WHEN, many years after its original publication, Balzac 
 reprinted " Les Chouans " as a part of the " Comedie Hu- 
 maine," he spoke of it in the dedication to his old friend M. 
 Theodore Dablin as "perhaps better than its reputation." 
 He probably referred to the long time which had passed with- 
 out a fresh demand for it; for it first made his fame, and 
 with it he first emerged from the purgatory of anonymous 
 hack-writing. It would therefore have argued a little ingrati- 
 tude in him had he shown himself dissatisfied with the original 
 reception. The book, however, has, it may be allowed, never 
 ranked among the special favorites of Balzacians ; and though 
 it was considerably altered and improved from its first form, 
 it has certain defects which are not likely to escape any reader. 
 In it Balzac was still trying the adventure-novel, the novel of 
 incident ; and though he here substitutes a nobler model 
 Scott, for whom he always had a reverence as intelligent as it 
 was generous for the Radcliffian or Lewisian ideals of his 
 nonage, he was still not quite at home. Some direct personal 
 knowledge or experience of the matters he wrote about was 
 always more or less necessary to him ; and the enthusiasm 
 with which he afterwards acknowledged, in a letter to Beyle, 
 the presence of such knowledge in that writer's military pas- 
 sages, confesses his own sense of inferiority. 
 
 It is not, however, in the actual fighting scenes, though they 
 are not of the first class, that the drawbacks of " Les Chouans" 
 lie. Though the present version is not my work, I translated 
 the book some years ago, a process which brings out much 
 
 (ix)
 
 x PREFACE. 
 
 more vividly than mere reading the want of art which dis- 
 tinguishes the management of the story. There are in it the 
 materials of a really first-rate romance. The opening skirmish, 
 the hairbreadth escape of Montauran at Alencon, the scenes 
 at the Vivetiere, not a few of the incidents of the attack on 
 Fougeres, and, above all, the finale, are, or at least might 
 have been made, of the most thrilling interest. Nor are they 
 by any means ill supported by the characters. Hulot is one 
 of the best of Balzac's grognard heroes; Montauran may be 
 admitted by the most faithful and jealous devotee of Scott to 
 be a jeune premier who unites all the qualifications of his part 
 with a freedom from the flatness which not un frequently char- 
 acterizes Sir Walter's own good young men, and which drew 
 from Mr. Thackeray the equivocal enconium that he should 
 like to be mother-in-law to several of them. Marche-a-Terre 
 is very nearly a masterpiece ; and many of the minor person- 
 ages are excellent for their work. Only Corentin (who, by 
 the way, appears frequently in other books later) is perhaps 
 below what he ought to be. But the women make .up for him. 
 Mademoiselle de Verneuil has admirable piquancy and charm ; 
 Madame du Gua is a good bad heroine ; and Francine is not 
 a mere soubrette of the machine-made pattern by any means. 
 
 Those who have only a slight acquaintance with the 
 " Comedie Humaine " must have noticed that chapter- 
 divisions are for the most part wanting in it, or are so few 
 and of such enormous lengths that they are rather parts than 
 chapters. It must not, however, be supposed that this was 
 an original peculiarity of the author's, or one founded on any 
 principle. Usually, though not invariably, the original edi- 
 tions of his longer novels, and even of the shorter tales, are 
 divided into chapters, with or without headings, like those of 
 other and ordinary mortals. But when he came to codify 
 and arrange the " Comedie," he for some reason, which I do 
 not remember to have seen explained anywhere in his letters,
 
 PREFACE. xi 
 
 struck out these divisions, or most of them, and left the books 
 solid, or merely broken up into a few parts. Thus " Le Der- 
 nier Chouans " (the original book) had thirty-two chapters, 
 though it had no chapter-headings, while the remodeled work 
 as here given has only three, the first containing nearly a 
 fifth, the second nearly two fifths, and the third not much less 
 than half of the whole book. I do not think it improved his 
 books at any time, and in the more romantic class of them it 
 is a distinct disadvantage. 
 
 "Le Dernier Chouan ou La Bretagne en 1800" first ap- 
 peared in March, 1829, published in four volumes, by Canel, 
 with a preface (afterwards suppressed) bearing date the 151)1 
 January of the same year. Its subsequent form, with the 
 actual title, threw the composition back to August, 1827, and 
 gave Fougeres itself as the place of composition. This re- 
 vised form, or second edition, appeared in 1834 in two 
 volumes, published by Vimont. When, twelve years later, it 
 took rank in the " Coined ie Humaine " as part of the 
 "Scenes de la vie Militaire," a second preface was inserted, 
 which in its turn was canceled by the author. 
 
 " Le Requisitionaire " (The Conscript) was issued by the 
 "Revue de Paris" of February 23, 1831, and may be called, 
 assuredly in no uncomplimentary or slighting sense, an anec- 
 dote rather than a story. G. S.
 
 THE CHOUANS 
 
 OR BRITTANY IN 1799 
 
 To M. Theodore Dablin, Merchant, 
 My first book to my earliest friend. 
 
 De Balzac. 
 
 I 
 THE AMBUSCADE 
 
 IN the early days of the year VIII. at the beginning of 
 Vendemiaire, or towards the end of the month of September, 
 1799, reckoning by the present calendar, some hundred peas- 
 ants and a fair number of townspeople who had set out from 
 Fougeres in the morning to go to Mayenne, were climbing 
 the mountain of the Pelerine, which lies about half-way be- 
 tween Fougeres and Ernee, a little place where travelers are 
 wont to break their journey. The detachment, divided up 
 into larger and smaller groups, presented as a whole such an 
 outlandish collection of costumes and brought together indi- 
 viduals belonging to such widely different neighborhoods and 
 callings that it may be worth while to describe their various 
 characteristics, and in this way impart to the narrative the 
 lifelike coloring that is so highly valued in our day, although, 
 according to certain critics, this is a hindrance to the portrayal 
 of sentiments. 
 
 Some of the peasants most of them in fact went barefoot. 
 Their whole clothing consisted in a large goat-skin, which 
 covered them from shoulder to knee, and breeches of very 
 
 (1)
 
 2 THE CHOUANS. 
 
 coarse white cloth, woven of uneven threads, that bore witness 
 to the neglected state of local industries. Their long matted 
 locks mingled so habitually with the hairs of their goat-skin 
 cloaks, and so completely hid the faces that they bent upon 
 the earth, that the goat-skin might have been readily taken 
 for a natural growth, and at first sight the miserable wearers 
 could hardly be distinguished from the animals whose hide 
 now served them for a garment. But very shortly a pair of 
 bright eyes peering through the hair, like drops of dew shining 
 in thick grass, spoke of a human intelligence within, though 
 the expression of the eyes certainly inspired more fear than 
 pleasure. Their heads were covered with dirty red woolen 
 bonnets, very like the Phrygian caps that the Republic in 
 those days had adopted as a symbol of liberty. Each carried 
 a long wallet made of sacking over his shoulder at the end 
 of a thick knotty oak cudgel. There was not much in the 
 wallets. 
 
 Others wore above their caps a great broad-brimmed felt 
 hat, with a band of woolen chenile of various colors about 
 the crown, and these were clad altogether in the same coarse 
 linen cloth that furnished the wallets and breeches of the first 
 group; there was scarcely a trace of the new civilization in 
 their dress. Their long hair straggled over the collar of a 
 round jacket which reached barely to the hips, a garment 
 peculiar to the western peasantry, with little square side-pockets 
 in it. Beneath this open-fronted jacket was a waistcoat, 
 fastened with big buttons and made of the same cloth. Some 
 wore sabots on the march, others thriftily carried them in 
 their hands. Soiled with long wear, blackened with dust and 
 sweat, this costume had one distinct merit of its own ; for if 
 it was less original than the one first described, it represented 
 a period of historical transition, that ended in the almost 
 magnificent apparel of a few men who shone out like flowers 
 in the midst of the company. 
 
 Their red or yellow waistcoats, decorated with two parallel
 
 THE AMBUSCADE. 3 
 
 rows of copper buttons, like a sort of oblong cuirass, and 
 their blue linen breeches, stood out in vivid contrast to the 
 white clothing and skin cloaks of their comrades ; they looked 
 like poppies and cornflowers in a field of wheat. Some few 
 of them were shod with the wooden sabots that the Breton 
 peasants make for themselves, but most of them wore great 
 iron-bound shoes and coats of very coarse material, shaped 
 after the old French fashion, to which our peasants still cling 
 religiously. Their shirt collars were fastened by silver studs 
 with designs of an anchor or a heart upon them ; and, finally, 
 their wallets seemed better stocked than those of their com- 
 rades. Some of them even included a flask, filled with 
 brandy no doubt, in their traveler's outfit, hanging it round 
 their necks by a string. 
 
 A few townspeople among these semi-barbarous folk looked 
 as if they marked the extreme limits of civilization in those 
 regions. Like the peasants, they exhibited conspicuous dif- 
 ferences of costume, some wearing round bonnets, and some 
 flat or peaked caps ; some had high boots with the tops turned 
 down, some wore shoes surmounted by gaiters. Ten or so 
 of them had put themselves into the jacket known to the 
 Republicans as a carmagnole ; others again, well-to-do artisans 
 doubtless, were dressed from head to foot in materials of 
 uniform color ; and the most elegantly arrayed of them all wore 
 swallow-tailed coats or riding-coats of blue or green cloth in 
 more or less threadbare condition. These last, moreover, 
 wore boots of various patterns, as became people of conse- 
 quence, and flourished large canes, like fellows who face their 
 luck with a stout heart. A head carefully powdered here and 
 there, or decently plaited queues, showed the desire to make 
 the most of ourselves which is inspired in us by a new turn 
 taken in our fortunes or our education. 
 
 Any one seeing these men brought together as if by chance, 
 and astonished at finding themselves assembled, might have 
 thought that a conflagration had driven the population of a
 
 4 THE CHOUANS. 
 
 little town from their homes. But the times and the place 
 made this body of men interesting for very different reasons. 
 A spectator initiated into the secrets of the civil discords 
 which then were rending France would have readily picked 
 out the small number of citizens in that company upon whose 
 loyalty the Republic could depend, for almost every one who 
 composed it had taken part against the government in the war 
 of four years previous. One last distinguishing characteristic 
 left no doubt whatever as to the divided opinions of the body 
 of men. The Republicans alone were in spirits as they 
 marched. As for the rest of the individuals that made up 
 the band, obviously as they might differ in their dress, one 
 uniform expression was visible on all faces and in the attitude 
 of each the expression which misfortune gives. 
 
 The faces of both townspeople and peasants bore the stamp 
 of deep dejection ; there was something sullen about the 
 silence they kept. All of them were bowed apparently 
 beneath the yoke of the same thought a terrible thought, no 
 doubt, but carefully hidden away. Every face was inscruta- 
 ble ; the unwonted lagging of their steps alone could betray 
 a secret understanding. A few of them were marked out by 
 a rosary that hung about their necks, although they ran some 
 risks by keeping about them this sign of a faith that had been 
 suppressed rather than uprooted ; and one of these from time 
 to time would shake back his hair and defiantly raise his 
 head. Then they would furtively scan the woods, the foot- 
 paths, and the crags that shut in the road on either side, 
 much as a dog sniffs the wind as he tries to scent the game ; 
 but as they only heard the monotonous sound of the steps of 
 their mute comrades, they hung their heads again with the 
 forlorn faces of convicts on their way to the galleys, where 
 they are now to live and die. 
 
 The advance of this column upon Mayenne, composed as 
 it was of such heterogeneous elements, and representing such 
 widely different opinions, was explained very readily by the
 
 THE AMBUSCADE. 5 
 
 presence of another body of troops which headed the detach- 
 ment. About one hundred and fifty soldiers were marching 
 at the head of the column under the command of the chief 
 of a demi-brigade. It may not be unprofitable to explain, 
 for those who have not witnessed the drama of the Revolution, 
 that this appellation was substitued for the title of colonel, 
 then rejected by patriots as too aristocratic. The soldiers 
 belonged to a demi-brigade of infantry stationed in the depot 
 at Mayenne. In those disturbed times the soldiers of the 
 Republic were all dubbed Blues by the population of the west. 
 The blue and red uniforms of the early days of the Republic, 
 which are too well remembered even yet to require descrip- 
 tion, had given rise to this nickname. So the detachment of 
 Blues was serving as an escort to this assemblage, consisting 
 of men who were nearly all ill satisfied at being thus directed 
 upon Mayenne, there to be submitted to a military discipline 
 which must shortly clothe them all alike, and drill a uniformity 
 into their march and ways of thinking which was at present 
 entirely lacking among them. 
 
 This column was the contingent of Fougeres, obtained 
 thence with great difficulty; and representing its share of the 
 levy which the Directory of the French Republic had required 
 by a law passed on the tenth day of the previous Messidor. 
 The government had asked for a subsidy of a hundred mil- 
 lions, and for a hundred thousand men, so as to send reinforce- 
 ments at once to their armies, then defeated by the Austrians 
 in Italy and by the Prussians in Germany ; while Suwarroff, 
 who had aroused Russia's hopes of making a conquest of 
 France, menaced them from Switzerland. Then it was that 
 the departments of the west known as la Vendee, Brittany, 
 and part of Lower Normandy, which had been pacified three 
 years previous by the efforts of General Hoche after four years 
 of hard fighting, appeared to think that the moment had come 
 to renew the struggle. 
 
 Attacked thus in so many directions, the Republic seemed
 
 6 THE CHOUANS. 
 
 to be visited with a return of her early vigor. At first the 
 defence of the departments thus threatened had been intrusted 
 to the patriotic residents by one of the provisions of that 
 same law of Messidor. The government, as a matter of fact, 
 had neither troops nor money available for the prosecution of 
 civil warfare, so the difficulty was evaded by a bit of bombast 
 on the part of the legislature. They could do nothing for the 
 revolted districts, so they reposed complete confidence in 
 them. Perhaps also they expected that this measure, by set- 
 ting the citizens at odds among themselves, would extinguish 
 the rebellion at its source. "Free companies will be organized 
 in the departments of the west" so ran the proviso which 
 brought about such dreadful retaliation. 
 
 This impolitic ordinance drove the west into so hostile an 
 attitude that the Directory had no hope left of subduing it all 
 at once. In a few days, therefore, the assemblies were asked 
 for particular enactments with regard to the slight reinforce- 
 ments due by virtue of the proviso that had authorized the 
 formation of the free companies. So a new law had been 
 proclaimed a few days before this story begins, and came into 
 effect on the third complementary day of the calendar in the 
 year VII., ordaining that these scanty levies of men should be 
 organized into regiments. The regiments were to bear the 
 names of the departments of the Sarthe, Ourthe, Mayenne, 
 Ille-et-Vilaine, Morbihan, Loire-Inferieure, and Maine-et- 
 Loire. "These regiments" so the law provided "are 
 specially enrolled to oppose the Chouans, and can never be 
 drafted over the frontiers on any pretext whatsoever." These 
 tedious but little known particulars explained at once the 
 march of the body of men under escort of the Blues, and the 
 weakness of the position in which the Directory found them- 
 selves. So, perhaps, it is not irrelevant to add that these beau- 
 tiful and patriotic intentions of theirs came no farther on the 
 road to being carried out than their insertion in the " Bulletin 
 des Lois." The decrees of the Republic had no longer the
 
 THE AMBUSCADE. 7 
 
 forces of great moral ideas, of patriotism, or of terror behind 
 them. These had been the causes of their former practical 
 efficiency ; so now they created men and millions on paper 
 which never found their way into the army or the treasury. 
 The machinery of the revolutionary government was directed 
 by incapable hands, and circumstances made impression on 
 the administration of the law instead of being controlled 
 by it. 
 
 The departments of Mayenne and Ille-et-Vilaine were then 
 in command of an experienced officer, who, being on the 
 spot, determined that now was the opportune moment for 
 arranging to draw his contingents out of Brittany, and more 
 particularly from Fougeres, which was one of the most formid- 
 able centres of Chouan operations, hoping in this way to 
 diminish the strength of these districts from which danger 
 threatened. This devoted veteran availed himself of the 
 delusive provisions of the law to proclaim that he would at 
 once arm and equip the requisitionaires, and that he held in 
 hand for their benefit a month's pay, which the government 
 had promised to these irregular forces. Although Brittany 
 declined every kind of military service at that time, this plan 
 of operations succeeded at the first start on the faith of the 
 promises made, and so readily that the officer began to grow 
 uneasy. 
 
 But he was an old watch-dog, and not easily put off his 
 guard, so that, as soon as he saw a portion of his contingent 
 hurrying to the bureau of the district, he suspected that there 
 was some hidden motive for this rapid influx of men ; and, 
 perhaps, he had guessed rightly when he believed that their 
 object was to procure arms for themselves. Upon this he 
 took measures to secure his retreat upon Alenc.on, without 
 waiting for the later arrivals. He wished to be within call of 
 the better affected districts, though even there the continued 
 spread of the insurrection made the success of his plans 
 extremely problematical. In obedience to his instructions,
 
 8 THE CHOUANS. 
 
 he had kept the news of the disasters that had befallen our 
 armies abroad a profound secret, as well as the disquieting 
 tidings that came from la Vendee ; and on the morning when 
 this story begins, he had made an effort to reach Mayenne by 
 a forced march. Once there, he thought to carry out the law 
 at his leisure, and to fill up the gaps in his demi-brigade with 
 Breton conscripts. That word "conscript," which became 
 so well known later on, had replaced for the first time, in the 
 wording of the law, the term " requisitionarire," by which the 
 Republican recruits had at first been described. 
 
 Before leaving Fougeres, the commandant had made his 
 own troops surreptitiously take charge of all the cartridge 
 boxes and rations of bread belonging to the entire body of 
 men, so that the attention of the conscripts should not be 
 called to the length of the journey. He made up his mind to 
 call no halt on the way to Ernee ; the Chouans were doubtless 
 abroad in the district, and the men of his new contingent, 
 once recovered from their surprise, might enter into concerted 
 action with them. A sullen silence prevailed among the band 
 of requisitionaires, who had been taken aback by the old 
 republican's tactics ; and this, taken with their lagging gait as 
 they climbed the mountain-side, increased to the highest 
 pitch the anxiety of the commandant of the demi-brigade, 
 Hulot by name. He was keenly interested in noting those 
 marked characteristics which have been previously described, 
 and was walking in silence among five subaltern officers who 
 all respected their chief's preoccupied mood. 
 
 As Hulot reached the summit of the Pelerine, however, he 
 instinctively turned his head to examine the restless faces of 
 the requisitionaires, and forthwith broke the silence. As a 
 matter of fact, the Bretons had been moving more and more 
 slowly, and already they had put an interval of some two 
 hundred paces between themselves and their escort. Hulot 
 made a sort of grimace peculiar to him at this. 
 
 "What the devil is the matter with the ragamuffins ? " he
 
 THE AMBUSCADE. 9 
 
 cried in the deep tones of his voice. " Instead of stepping 
 out, these conscripts of ours have their legs glued together, I 
 think." 
 
 At these words the officers who were with him turned to 
 look behind them, acting on an impulse like that which makes 
 us wake with a start at some sudden noise. The sergeants 
 and corporals followed their example, and the whole company 
 came to a standstill, without waiting for the wished-for word 
 of command to "halt! " If, in the first place, the officers 
 gave a glance over the detachment that was slowly crawling 
 up the Pelerine like an elongated tortoise, they were suffi- 
 ciently struck with the view that spread itself out before their 
 eyes to leave Hulot's remark unanswered, its importance not 
 being at all appreciated by them. They were young men 
 who, like many others, had been torn away from learned 
 studies to defend their country, and the art of war had not 
 yet extinguished the love of other arts in them. 
 
 Although they were coming from Fougeres, whence the 
 same picture that now lay before their eyes could be seen 
 equally well, they could not help admiring it again for the 
 last time, with all the differences that the change in the point 
 of view had made in it. They were not unlike those dilettanti 
 who take more pleasure in a piece of music for a closer knowl- 
 edge of its details. 
 
 From the heights of the Pelerine the wide valley of the 
 Couesnon extends before the traveler's eyes. The town of 
 Fougeres occupies one of the highest points on the horizon. 
 From the high rock on which it is built the castle commands 
 three or four important ways of communication, a position 
 which formerly made it one of the keys of Brittany. From 
 their point of view the officers saw the whole length and 
 breadth of this basin, which is as remarkable for its marvel- 
 ously fertile soil as for the varied scenery it presents. The 
 mountains of schist rise above it on all sides, as in an amphi- 
 theatre, the warm coloring of their sides is disguised by the
 
 10 THE CHOUANS. 
 
 oak forests upon them, and little cool valleys lie concealed in 
 their slopes. 
 
 The crags describe a wall about an apparently circular en- 
 closure, and in the depths below them lies a vast stretch of 
 delicate meadow-land laid out like an English garden. A 
 multitude of irregularly-shaped quick-set hedges surrounds the 
 numberless domains, and trees are planted everywhere, so 
 that this green carpet presents an appearance not often seen 
 in French landscapes. Unsuspected beauty lies hidden in 
 abundance among its manifold shadows and lights, and effects 
 strong and broad enough to strike the most indifferent nature. 
 
 At this particular moment the stretch of country was bright- 
 ened by a fleeting glory such as nature loves at times to use to 
 heighten the grandeur of her imperishable creations. All the 
 while that the detachment was crossing the valley, the rising 
 sun had slowly scattered the thin white mists that hover above 
 the fields in September mornings ; and now when the soldiers 
 looked back, an invisible hand seemed to raise the last of the 
 veils that had covered the landscape. The fine delicate clouds 
 were like a transparent gauze enshrouding precious jewels that 
 lie, exciting our curiosity, behind it. All along the wide 
 stretch of horizon that the officers could see, there was not 
 the lightest cloud in heaven to persuade them by its silver 
 brightness that that great blue vault above them was really the 
 sky. It was more like a silken canopy held up by the uneven 
 mountain-peaks, and borne aloft to protect this wonderful 
 combination of field and plain and wood and river. 
 
 The officers did not weary of scanning that extent of plain, 
 which gave rise to so much beauty of field and wood. Some 
 of them looked hither and thither long before their gaze was 
 fixed at last on the wonderful diversity of color in the woods, 
 where the sober hues of groups of trees that were turning sere 
 brought out more fully the richer hues of the bronze foliage, 
 a contrast heightened still further by irregular indentations of 
 emerald green meadow. Others dwelt on the warm coloring
 
 THE AMBUSCADE. 11 
 
 of the fields, with their cone-shaped stocks of buckwheat piled 
 up like the sheaves of arms that soldiers make in a bivouac, 
 and the opposing hues of the fields of rye that were inter- 
 spersed among them, all golden with stubble after the harvest. 
 There was a dark-colored slate roof here and there, with a 
 white smoke ascending from it ; and here again a bright 
 silvery streak of some winding bit of the Couesnon would 
 attract the gaze a snare for the eyes which follow it, and so 
 lead the soul all unconsciously into vague musings. The 
 fresh fragrance of the light autumn wind and the strong forest 
 scents came up like an intoxicating incense for those who 
 stood admiring this beautiful country, and saw with delight its 
 strange wild-flowers, and the vigorous green growth that makes 
 it a rival of the neighboring land of Britain, the country 
 which bears the same name in common with it. A few cattle 
 gave life to the scene, that was already full of dramatic interest. 
 The birds were singing, giving to the breezes in the valley a 
 soft low vibration of music. 
 
 If the attentive imagination will discern to the utmost the 
 splendid effects of the lights and shadows, the misty outlines 
 of the hills, the unexpected distant views afforded in places 
 where there was a gap among the trees, a broad stretch of 
 water, or the coy, swiftly-winding courses of streams ; if 
 memory fills in, so to speak, these outlines, brief as the 
 moment that they represent ; then those for whom these 
 possess a certain worth will form a dim idea of the enchanting 
 scene that came as a surprise to the yet impressionable minds 
 of the young officers. 
 
 They thought that these poor creatures were leaving their 
 own country and their beloved customs in sadness, in order to 
 die, perhaps, on foreign soil, and instinctively forgave them 
 for a reluctance which they well understood. Then with a 
 kindness of heart natural to soldiers, they disguised their com- 
 plaisance under the appearance of a wish to study the lovely 
 landscape from a military point of view. But Hulot, for the
 
 12 THE CHOUANS. 
 
 commandant must be called by his name, to avoid his scarcely 
 euphonious title of chief demi-brigade, was not the kind of 
 soldier who is smitten with the charms of scenery at a time 
 when danger is at hand, even if the Garden of Eden were to 
 lie before him. He shook his head disapprovingly, and his 
 thick black eyebrows were contracted, giving a very stern 
 expression to his face. 
 
 " Why the devil don't they come along? " he asked for the 
 second time, in a voice that had grown hoarse with many a 
 hard campaign. "Is there some Holy Virgin or other in the 
 village whose hand they want to squeeze ? " 
 
 "You want to know why ? " a voice replied. 
 
 The sounds seemed to come from one of the horns with 
 which herdsmen in these dales call their cattle together. The 
 commandant wheeled round at the words, as sharply as if he 
 had felt a prick from a sword point, and saw, two paces from 
 him, a queerer looking being than any of those now on the 
 way to Mayenne to serve the Republic. 
 
 The stranger was a broad-shouldered, thick-set man ; his 
 head looked almost as large as that of a bull, and was not un- 
 like it in other respects; his wide, thick nostrils made his 
 nose seem shorter than it really was; his thick lips turned up 
 to display a snowy set of teeth, long lashes bristled round 
 the large black eyes, and he had a pair of drooping ears, and 
 red hair that seemed to belong rather to some root-eating race 
 than to the noble Caucasian stock. There was an entire 
 absence of any other characteristics of civilized man about 
 the bare head, which made it more remarkable still. His 
 face might have been turned to bronze by the sun ; its angular 
 outlines suggested a remote resemblance to the granite rocks 
 that formed the underlying soil of the district, and his face 
 was the only discernible portion of the body of this strange 
 being. From his neck downwards he was enveloped in a 
 kind of smock-frock, or blouse of a coarse kind of material, 
 much rougher than that of which the poorest conscript's
 
 THE AMBUSCADE. 13 
 
 breeches were made. This smock-frock or sarrau, in which 
 an antiquary would have recognized the saye (saga^) or sayon 
 of the Gauls, reached only half-way down his person, where 
 his nether integuments of goat's skin were fastened to it by 
 wooden skewers, so roughly cut that the bark was not removed 
 from all of them. It was scarcely possible to distinguish a 
 human form in the "goat-skins" (so they call them in the 
 district), which completely covered his legs and thighs. His 
 feet were hidden by huge sabots. His long, sleek hair, very 
 near the color of the skins he wore, was parted in the middle 
 and fell on either side of his face, much as you see it arranged 
 in some mediaeval statues still existing in cathedrals. Instead 
 of the knotty cudgel with which the conscripts slung their 
 wallets from their shoulders, he was hugging a large whip to 
 his breast, like a gun, a whip with a cleverly plaited thong 
 that seemed quite twice the usual length. 
 
 The sudden appearance of this quaint being seemed readily 
 explicable. At the first sight of him several officers took him 
 for a conscript or requisitionaire (both of these terms were 
 still in use) who had seen the halt made by the column and 
 had fallen in with it. Nevertheless the man's arrival amazed 
 the commandant strangely ; for though there was not the 
 slightest trace of alarm about him, he grew thoughtful. After 
 a survey of the newcomer, he repeated his question mechan- 
 ically, as if he were preoccupied with sinister thoughts. 
 
 "Yes, why don't they come up? Do you happen to 
 know? " 
 
 His surly interlocutor answered with an accent which showed 
 that he found it sufficiently difficult to express himself in 
 French. " Because," he said, stretching out his big, rough 
 hand towards Ernee, "there lies Maine, and here Brittany 
 ends," and he struck the ground heavily as he threw down 
 the handle of his whip at the commandant's feet. 
 
 If a barbarous tomtom were suddenly struck in the middle 
 of a piece of music, the impression produced would be very
 
 14 THE CHOUANS. 
 
 like the effect made upon the spectators of this scene by the 
 stranger's concise speech. That word " speech " will scarcely 
 give an idea of the hatred, the thirst for vengeance expressed 
 in the scornful gesture and the brief word or two, or of the 
 fierce and stern energy in the speaker's face. The extreme 
 roughness of the man, who looked as though he had been 
 hewn into shape by an axe, his gnarled skin, the lines of 
 ignorant stupidity graven in every feature, gave him the look 
 of a savage divinity. As he stood there in his prophetic atti- 
 tude he looked like an embodied spirit of that Brittany which 
 had just awakened from a three years' sleep, to begin a 
 struggle once more in which victory could never show her 
 face save through a double veil of crape. 
 
 "There's a pretty image," said Hulot to himself. "To 
 my mind, he looks like an envoy from folk who are about to 
 open negotiations with powder and ball ! " 
 
 When he had muttered these words between his teeth, the 
 commandant's eyes traveled from the man before him over 
 the landscape, from the landscape to the detachment, from 
 the detachment over the steep slopes on either side of the way 
 with the tall gorse-bushes of Brittany shading their summits, 
 and thence he suddenly turned upon the stranger, whom he 
 submitted to a mute examination, ending at last by asking 
 him sharply 
 
 " Where do you come from?" 
 
 His keen, piercing eyes were trying to read the secret 
 thoughts beneath the inscrutable face before him, a face which 
 had meantime resumed the usual expression of vacuous stolid- 
 ity that envelopes a peasant's face in repose. 
 
 "From the country of the gars," the man answered, with- 
 out a trace of apprehension. 
 
 " Your name? " 
 
 "Marche-a-Terre." 
 
 " What makes you call yourself by your Chouan nickname? 
 It is against the law."
 
 TFfE AMBUSCADE. 15 
 
 Marche-a-Terre, as he called himself, gaped at the command- 
 ant with such a thoroughly genuine appearance of imbecility 
 that the soldier thought his remark was not understood. 
 
 " Are you a part of the Fougeres requisition ? " 
 
 To this question Marche-a-Terre replied with an " I don't 
 know," in that peculiarly hopeless fashion which puts a stop 
 to all conversation. He sat himself down quietly at the road- 
 side, drew from his blouse some slices of a thin dark bannock 
 made of buckwheat meal, the staple food of Brittany, a mel- 
 ancholy diet in which only a Breton can take delight, and 
 began to eat with wooden imperturbability. 
 
 He looked so absolutely devoid of every kind of intelligence, 
 that the officers compared him as he sat first to one of the 
 cattle browsing in the pasture-land below, next to an American 
 Indian, and lastly to some aboriginal savage at the Cape of 
 Good Hope. Even the commandant himself was deceived 
 by his attitude, and heeded his fears no longer, till by way 
 of making assurance surer still he gave a last glance at the 
 suspected herald of an approaching massacre, and noticed that 
 his hair, his blouse, and his goat-skin breeches were covered 
 with thorns, bits of wood, scraps of bramble and leaves, as if 
 the Chouan had come through the thickets for a long distance. 
 He looked significantly at his adjutant Gerard, who was stand- 
 ing beside him, gripped his hand, and said in a low voice 
 
 " We went out to look for wool, and we shall go back again 
 shorn." 
 
 The astonished officers eyed one another in silence. 
 
 Here we must digress a little, so that those stay-at-home 
 people who are accustomed to believe nothing because they 
 never see anything for themselves, may be induced to sym- 
 pathize with the fears of the commandant Hulot, for these 
 people would be capable of denying the existence of a Marche- 
 a-Terre and of the western peasants who behaved with such 
 heroism in those times. 
 
 The word gars, pronounced ga, is a relic of the Celtic
 
 16 THE CHOUANS. 
 
 tongue. It passed into the French from the Bas-Breton, and 
 of all words in the language that we speak to-day in France 
 this one preserves the oldest traditions. The gais was the 
 principal weapon of the Gaels or Gauls ; gaisde meant armed, 
 gais meant valor, and gas force. The close similarity proves 
 that the word gars is connected with these expressions in the 
 language of our ancestors. The word corresponds to the 
 Latin word vir, a man ; the significance at the root of virtus, 
 strength or courage. The apology for this dissertation lies in 
 the fact that the word is a part of our national history, and 
 this possibly may reinstate such words as gars, garcon, gar- 
 conette, garce, garcette, in the good graces of some persons 
 who banish them from all conversation as uncouth expressions; 
 they come of a warlike origin for all that, and will turn up 
 now and again in the course of this narrative. "C'estune 
 fameusc garce!" was the little appreciated eulogium which 
 Mme. de Stael received in a little canton of Vendomois, where 
 she spent some of her days in exile. 
 
 The Gaul has left deeper traces of his character in Brittany 
 than in all the rest of France. Those parts of the province, 
 where the wild life and superstitious spirit of our rough an- 
 cestors are glaringly evident, so to speak, even in our day, 
 were called the Pays des Gars. When the population of a 
 district consists of a number of uncivilized people like those 
 who have just been collected together in the opening scene, 
 the folk round about in the country-side call them " The gars 
 of such and such a parish," which classical epithet is a sort 
 of reward for the loyalty of their efforts to preserve the tradi- 
 tions of their Celtic language and customs. In their daily 
 lives, moreover, there are deep traces of the superstitious 
 beliefs and practices of ancient times. Feudal customs are 
 even yet respected, antiquaries find Druidical monuments there, 
 and the spirit of modern civilization hesitates to traverse those 
 vast tracts of primeval forest. There is an incredible ferocity 
 and a dogged obstinacy about the national character, but an
 
 THE AMBUSCADE. 17 
 
 oath is religiously kept. Our laws, customs, and dress, our 
 modern coinage and our language are utterly unknown among 
 them ; and if, on the one hand, their combination of patri- 
 archal simplicity and heroic virtues makes them less apt at 
 projecting complicated schemes than the Mohicans or North 
 American redskins, on the other hand they are as magnan- 
 imous, as hardy, and as shrewd. 
 
 The fact that Brittany is situated in Europe makes it very 
 much more interesting than Canada. It is surrounded by 
 enlightenment, but the beneficent warmth never penetrates 
 it ; the country is like some frozen piece of coal that lies, a 
 dim black mass, in the heart of a blazing fire. The attempts 
 made by some shrewd heads to make this large portion of 
 France, with its undeveloped resources, amenable, to give it 
 social life and prosperity, had failed ; even the efforts of the 
 government had come to nothing among a stationary people, 
 wedded to the usages prescribed by immemorial tradition. 
 The natural features of the country offer a sufficient expla- 
 nation of this misfortune ; the land is furrowed with ravines 
 and torrents, with lakes and marshes ; it bristles with hedges, 
 as they call a sort of earthwork or fortification that makes a 
 citadel of every field. There are neither roads nor canals, 
 and the temper of an ignorant population must be taken into 
 account, a population given over to prejudices that cause 
 dangers to which this story will bear witness, a population 
 that will none of our modern methods of agriculture. 
 
 The picturesque nature of the country and the superstition 
 of its inhabitants both preclude the aggregation of individuals 
 and the consequent benefits that might be gained from a com- 
 parison and exchange of ideas. There are no villages. Frail 
 structures, cabins, as they call them, are scattered abroad over 
 the country-side, and every family there lives as if in a 
 desert. At the only times when the people are brought 
 together, the meeting is a brief one, and takes place on 
 Sundays, or on one of the religious festivals observed by the 
 2
 
 18 THE CHOUANS. 
 
 parish. These unsociable gatherings only last for a few hours, 
 and are always presided over by the "rector," the only 
 master that their dull minds recognize. The peasant hears 
 the awe-inspiring voice of the priest, and returns to his 
 unwholesome dwelling for the week ; he goes out to work and 
 goes home again to sleep. If any one goes near him, it is 
 that same rector, who is the soul of the country-side. It was 
 at the bidding of the priest, too, that so many thousands of 
 men flung themselves upon the Republic, when these very 
 Breton districts furnished large bodies of men for the first 
 Chouan organization, five years before this story begins. 
 
 In those days several brothers, daring smugglers, named 
 Cottereau, who gave their name to the war, had plied their 
 dangerous trade between Laval and Fougeres. But there was 
 nothing noble about these rural outbreaks ; for if La Vendee 
 had elevated brigandage into warfare, Brittany had degraded 
 war into brigandage. The proscription of the princes and 
 the overthrow of religion were, to the Chouans, simply pre- 
 texts for plundering excursions, and all the events of that 
 internecine warfare were colored by something of the savage 
 ferocity peculiar to the disposition of the race. When the 
 real supporters of the Monarchy came in search of recruits 
 among this ignorant and combative population, they tried, 
 and tried in vain, when they ranged the Chouans under the 
 white flag, to infuse some larger ideas into the enterprises 
 which had made Chouannerie detested. The Chouans 
 remained a memorable instance of the grave dangers 
 incurred by stirring up the masses of a half-civilized country. 
 
 The scene that the first Breton valley offers to the traveler's 
 eyes, the picture that has been given of the men who com- 
 posed the detachment of requisitionaires, the description of 
 the gars who appeared on the summit of the Pelerine, would 
 give altogether an accurate idea of the province and of 
 those who dwelt in it. From those details an expert imagina-
 
 THE AMBUSCADE. 19 
 
 tion could construct the theatre and the machinery of war ; 
 therein lay all the elements. 
 
 Concealed enemies were lurking behind those hedges, .with 
 the autumn flowers in them, in every lovely valley. Every 
 field was a fortress, every tree was a snare in disguise, not an 
 old hollow willow trunk but concealed a stratagem. The 
 field of battle lay in all directions. At every corner of the 
 road muskets were lying in wait for the Blues ; young girls, 
 smiling as they went, would think it no treachery to lure 
 them under the fire of cannon, and go afterwards with their 
 fathers and brothers on pilgrimage to ask for absolution, 
 and to pray to be inspired with fresh deceits, at the shrine 
 of some carved and gilded virgin. The religion, or rather 
 the fetichism, of these ignorant folk had deprived murder 
 of all sense of remorse. 
 
 So it befell that when the struggle had once begun, there 
 was danger everywhere throughout the length and breadth of 
 the country ; in sound as in silence, in pardon or in terror, 
 and by the fireside just as much as on the high road. They 
 were conscientiously treacherous, these savages who were 
 serving God and the King by making war like Mohicans. 
 Yet if the historian is to give a true and faithful picture of 
 the struggle, in every particular, he ought to add that as soon 
 as Hoche's treaty was signed the whole country became blithe 
 and friendly at once. Families who had been ready to fly 
 at each other's throats the day before, supped without danger 
 under the same roof. 
 
 The moment that Hulot became aware of the treacherous 
 secrets revealed by Marche-a-Terre's goat-skin apparel, his 
 conviction was confirmed ; the auspicious peace inaugurated 
 through Hoche's ability was now at an end ; its longer dura- 
 tion indeed seemed to him impossible. It was in this manner 
 that war broke out again, after three years of inaction, and in 
 a more formidable guise than hitherto. Perhaps the temper 
 of the Revolution, which had grown milder since the Ninth
 
 20 THE CHOUANS. 
 
 of Thermidor, was about to revert to the ferocity which had 
 made it hateful to every rightly constituted mind. English 
 gold, as usual, contributed to bring about discord in France. 
 If the Republic were abandoned by the young Bonaparte, 
 who seemed to be its tutelary genius, it seemed as if it would 
 be utterly unable to make a stand against so many foes, and 
 the last to appear were the bitterest among them. Civil war, 
 heralded by numberless risings of little importance, assumed 
 a gravity before unknown, from the moment that the Chouans 
 conceived the idea of attacking so strong an escort. This, in 
 a concise form, was the substance of Hulot's reflections, when 
 he believed that in Marche-a-Terre's sudden appearance he saw 
 the signs of a skilfully prepared trap. And he alone, for no 
 one else was in the secret of the danger. 
 
 The pause which ensued after the commandant's prophetic 
 remark to Gerard, and which put an end to the previous 
 scene, sufficed for Hulot to regain his composure. The vet- 
 eran's brain had almost reeled ; he could not shake off the 
 gloom which covered his brow as he thought that he was even 
 then surrounded by the horrors of a warfare marked by atroc- 
 ities from which, perhaps, even cannibals would shrink. His 
 captain, Merle, and the adjutant Gerard, both of them friends 
 of his, tried to understand the terror, quite new in their 
 experience, of which their leader's face gave evidence ; then 
 they looked at Marche-a-Terre, who was eating his bannock, 
 and could not discern the remotest connection between the 
 brave commandant's uneasiness and this sort of animal at the 
 roadside. 
 
 Hulot's face soon cleared, however. 
 
 While he deplored the calamities that had befallen the 
 Republic, he was glad at heart that he was to fight for her ; 
 he vowed gaily to himself that he would not be gulled by the 
 Chouans, and that he would read this dark intriguing nature 
 that they had done him the honor to send against him. 
 Before making any decision he began to study the place in
 
 THE AMBUSCADE. 21 
 
 which his enemies wished to take him at a disadvantage. His 
 thick black eyebrows contracted into a heavy frown as he saw 
 from the middle of the road where he stood that their way 
 lay through a sort of ravine, of no great depth it is true, but 
 with woods on either side, and many footpaths through them. 
 He spoke to his two comrades in a low and very uncertain 
 voice 
 
 " We are in a nice hornet's nest ! " 
 
 " What is it that you are afraid of ? " 
 
 "Afraid?" answered the commandant. "Yes, afraid. 
 I have always been afraid of being shot like a dog at some 
 bend in a wood, without so much as a ' Who goes there ? ' ' 
 
 "Bah," chuckled Merle, "even a 'Who goes there?' is 
 also a deception." 
 
 "We really are in danger then?" asked Gerard, as much 
 amazed now at Hulot's coolness as he had been before at his 
 brief spasm of fear. 
 
 " Hush ! " said the commandant ; "we are in the wolfs 
 den ; it is as dark as in an oven in there, and we must strike 
 a fight. It is lucky," he went on, " that we occupy the 
 highest ground on this side." He added a vigorous epithet 
 by way of ornament, and went on, " Perhaps I shall end by 
 understanding it clearly enough down there." 
 
 The commandant beckoned the two officers, and they made 
 a ring round Marche-a-Terre ; the gars pretended to think 
 that he was in the way, and got up promptly. 
 
 "Stop where you are, vagabond !" cried Hulot, giving 
 him a push that he went down again on to the slope where he 
 had been sitting. From that moment the chief of demi- 
 brigade never took his eyes off the stolid and impassive 
 Breton. 
 
 "It is time to let you know, my friends," said Hulot, 
 addressing the two officers in low tones, " that they have shut 
 up shop down there. A mighty rummaging has been set up 
 in the assemblies, and the directory in consequence has sent a
 
 22 THE CHOUANS. 
 
 few strokes of the broom our way. Those pentarchs of 
 directors call them pantaloons, it is better French have 
 just lost a good sword ; Bernadotte has had enough of it." 
 
 " Who succeeds him ? " asked Gerard eagerly. 
 
 " Milet-Mureau, an old pedant. They have pitched on 
 an awkward time for setting numskulls to pilot us. There 
 are English rockets going up on the coasts: these cock- 
 chafers of Vendeans and Chouans about : and the fellows 
 at the back of those marionettes yonder have cleverly selected 
 the moment when we are about to succumb." 
 
 "What?" asked Merle. 
 
 "Our armies are beaten back at every point," said Hulot, 
 lowering his voice more and more. " The Chouans have 
 intercepted our couriers twice already ; my own despatches 
 and the last decrees issued only reached me by a special 
 express that Bernadotte sent just as he resigned his place 
 in the ministry. Personal friends, fortunately, have written 
 to me about this crisis. Fouche has found out that traitors 
 in Paris have advised the tyrant Louis XVIII. to send a leader 
 to his dupes in the interior. Some think that Barras is a 
 traitor to the Republic. In short, Pitt and the princes have 
 sent a ci-devant over here ; a strong man and a capable leader, 
 he intends, by combining the efforts of the Vendeans and 
 Chouans, to teach the Republic to respect them. The fellow 
 has landed in Morbihan; I knew it before anyone else, and 
 I advised those rascals in Paris of his arrival. ' The Gars/ 
 he has chosen to call himself. All those animals," and he 
 pointed to Marche-a-Terre, " fit themselves up with names 
 that would give any honest patriot the colic if you called him 
 by them. But our man is here in this country, and the 
 appearance of that Chouan yonder," again he pointed to 
 Marche-a-Terre, " tells me that he is close upon us. But 
 there is no need to teach grimaces to an old monkey, and you 
 will help me now to cage my linnets, and in less than no 
 time. A pretty idiot I should be to let myself be snared like
 
 THE AMBUSCADE. 23 
 
 a bird, and that by a ci-devant from London, come over here 
 pretending that he wants to dust our jackets." 
 
 Thus informed in confidence of the critical state of affairs, 
 the two officers, who knew that their commandant never 
 alarmed himself without good reason, assumed that gravity of 
 expression common to soldiers in pressing danger, who have 
 been thoroughly tempered and have some insight into the 
 ways of mankind. Gerard, whose rank, since suppressed, 
 brought him into close contact with his commandant, made 
 up his mind to reply, and to ask for the rest of the political 
 news which had evidently been passed over ; but a sign from 
 Hulot kept him silent, and all three of them fell to scrutiniz- 
 ing Marche-a-Terre. 
 
 The Chouan showed not the least sign of agitation at finding 
 himself watched in this way by men as formidable intellectu- 
 ally as they were physically. This sort of warfare was a 
 novelty to the two officers ; their curiosity was keenly excited 
 by the opening event, and the whole matter seemed to be 
 invested with an almost romantic interest. They were in- 
 clined to joke about it ; but at the first word which they let 
 fall, Hulot looked at them sternly and said 
 
 " Tonnerre de Dieu, citizens ! don't smoke your pipes over 
 a barrel of powder. You might as well amuse yourselves with 
 carrying water in a basket, as by showing courage where it isn't 
 wanted. Gerard, " he continued, leaning over, and whisper- 
 ing in the adjutant's ear, "get nearer to the brigand bit by 
 bit, and if he makes the least suspicious movement, run him 
 through the body at once. And I myself will take measures 
 for keeping up the conversation if our unknown friends really 
 have a mind to begin it." 
 
 Gerard bent his head slightly in obedience. Then he 
 began to look round at different points in the landscape of 
 the valley, with which the reader has had an opportunity of 
 making himself familiar. He appeared to wish to study them 
 more closely, stepping back upon himself, so to speak, quite
 
 24 THE CHOUANS. 
 
 naturally ; but the landscape, it will well be believed, was the 
 last thing he had in view. Marche-a-Terre, on the other 
 hand, took no heed whatever of the officer's manoeuvres. 
 One might have supposed that he was fishing in the ditch 
 with a rod and line, from the way he played with his whip 
 handle. 
 
 While Gerard was trying in this way to take up his position 
 by the Chouan, the commandant spoke in a low voice to 
 Merle. 
 
 " Take ten picked men and a sergeant, and post them your- 
 self up above us, just on that part of the summit on this side 
 where the road widens and makes a kind of plateau ; you 
 could see a good long stretch of the road to Ernee from the 
 place. Pick out a spot where there are no woods on either 
 side of the road, so that the sergeant can keep a lookout over 
 the country round. Take Clefdes-Coeurs ; he has his wits 
 about him. This is no laughing matter at all ; I would not 
 give a penny for our skins if we don't take every advantage 
 we can get." 
 
 Captain Merle understood the importance of prompt action 
 and the manoeuvre was executed at once. Then the com- 
 mandant waved his right hand, demanding absolute silence 
 from his men, who stood round about amusing themselves 
 with chat. He signed to them afresh to shoulder arms, and 
 as soon as everything was quiet again, his eyes traveled 
 from one side of the road to the other; he seemed in hope to 
 detect muffled sounds of weapons or of footsteps, prelimi- 
 naries of the looked-for struggle, and to be listening anxiously 
 for them. His keen black eyes appeared to penetrate to the 
 very depths of the woods in a marvelous way. No sign was 
 forthcoming. He consulted the sand on the road, as savages 
 do, trying by every means by which he could discover the 
 invisible foes whose audacity was known to him. 
 
 In despair at finding nothing which justified his fears, he 
 went towards the side of the road, climbed with some diffi-
 
 THE AMBUSCADE. 25 
 
 culty up the bank, and went deliberately along the top of it. 
 Suddenly he felt how largely his own experience conduced to 
 the safety of his detachment, and he came down again. His 
 face grew darker, for leaders in those days were wont to regret 
 that they could not reserve the most dangerous missions for 
 themselves alone. The other officers and the men noticed 
 their leader's preoccupied mood. They liked him. The cour- 
 age of his character was recognized among them ; so they 
 knew that this exceeding caution on his part meant that danger 
 was at hand. How serious it was they could not possibly sus- 
 pect ; so, though they remained motionless and scarcely drew 
 their breath, it was done intuitively. The soldiers looked by 
 turns along the valley of the Couesnon, at the woods along 
 the road, and at their commandant's stern face, trying to 
 gather what their fate was to be, much as the dogs try to guess 
 what the experienced sportsman means who gives them some 
 order which they cannot understand. They looked at each 
 other's eyes, and a smile spread from mouth to mouth. 
 
 As Hulot made his peculiar grimace, Beau-Pied, a young 
 sergeant, who was regarded as the wit of the company, said 
 in a low voice 
 
 " What the devil have we run ourselves into to make that 
 old dragoon of a Hulot to turn such a muddy face on us ? 
 He looks like a whole council of war." 
 
 Hulot flung a stern glance at Beau-Pied, and forthwith there 
 was a sudden accession of the silence required by the men 
 under arms. In the middle of this awful pause the lagging 
 foosteps of the conscripts were heard. The gravel under 
 their feet gave out a dull, monotonous sound that added a vague 
 disagreeable feeling to the general anxiety, an indescribable 
 feeling that can only be understood by those who, in the silence 
 of the night, have been victims of a terrible suspense, and 
 have felt their hearts beat heavily with redoubled quickness at 
 some monotonous recurring noise which has seemed to pour 
 terror through them drop by drop. The commandant reached
 
 26 THE CHOUANS. 
 
 the middle of the road again. He was beginning to ask him- 
 self, "Am I deceived?" His rage concentrated itself already 
 upon Marche-a-Terre and his stolid tranquillity ; it flashed in 
 his eyes like lightning as he looked at him ; but he discerned 
 a savage irony in the Chouan's sullen gaze that convinced him 
 that it would be better not to discontinue his precautionary 
 measures. His captain, Merle, came up to him just then, 
 after having executed Hulot's orders. The mute actors in 
 this scene, which was like so many another that was to make 
 this war one of the most dramatic ever known, were looking 
 out impatiently for new sensations, curious to see any fresh 
 manoeuvres that should throw a light on obscure points of the 
 military position, for their benefit. 
 
 "Captain," said the commandant, "we did well to put the 
 small number of patriots that we can depend upon among the 
 requisitionaires at the rear of the detachment. Take another 
 dozen of stout fellows and put Sub-lieutenant Lebrun at the 
 head of them ; take them down quickly yourself to the rear 
 of the detachment ; they will support the patriots down there, 
 and they will make the whole troop of rascals move on, and 
 quickly too, and bring them up to the level of our own men 
 in no time. I am waiting for you." 
 
 The captain disappeared among the troop. The command- 
 ant looked out four resolute men, whom he knew to be alert 
 and active, and called them by a gesture only ; he tapped his 
 nose with his forefinger, and then pointed to each in turn by 
 way of a friendly sign. The four approached him. "You 
 served with me under Hoche," said he, " when we gave these 
 scoundrels who call themselves " Chasseurs du Roi " a lesson, 
 and you know their ways of hiding themselves so as to pepper 
 the Blues!" 
 
 All four soldiers held up their heads and pressed their lips 
 together significantly at this praise of their quick-wittedness. 
 There was a reckless acquiescence in the soldierly heroic faces 
 which showed that since the beginning of the struggle between
 
 THE AMBUSCADE. 27 
 
 France and Europe, their thoughts had scarcely strayed be- 
 yond the limits of the cartridge pouch at their backs and the 
 bayonet they carried in front. They stood with pursed-up 
 mouths, looking curiously and attentively at the commandant. 
 
 "Very well," went on Hulot, who in an eminent degree 
 possessed the art of speaking in the soldier's picturesque lan- 
 guage, "stout fellows, such as we are, must never allow the 
 Chouans to make fools of us ; and there are Chouans about, 
 or my name is not Hulot. Be off, the four of you, and beat 
 up either side of the road. The detachment is going to slip 
 its cable ; keep well alongside of it. Try not to hand in your 
 checks, and clear up this business for me. Sharp ! " 
 
 He pointed out the dangerous heights above the road. By 
 way of thanks, all four raised the backs of their hands before 
 their old cocked hats; the turned-up brims, weather-beaten 
 now and limp with age, had fallen over the crowns. One of 
 them, Larose by name, a corporal that Hulot knew, said as he 
 made the muzzle of his gun ring on the ground 
 
 " They shall have a solo on the clarionette, commandant." 
 
 They set out, two of them to the right, and the others to 
 the left. It was not without an inward tremor that the com- 
 pany saw them disappear on either side of the way. The 
 commandant shared in this anxiety ; he believed that he had 
 sent them to a certain death. He shuddered in spite of him- 
 self when he saw their hats no longer, and both officers and 
 men heard the sound of their footsteps on the dead leaves 
 gradually dying away with a feeling all the more acutely 
 painful for being hidden so far beneath the surface. In war 
 there are scenes like these, when four men sent into jeopardy 
 cause more consternation than the thousands of corpses 
 stretched upon the field at Jemappes. So many and so fleet- 
 ing are the expressions of the military physiognomy, that 
 those who would fain depict them are obliged to call up 
 memories of soldiers in the past, and to leave it to non-com- 
 batants to study their dramatic figures, for these stormy times
 
 28 THE CHOUANS. 
 
 were so rich in detail that any complete description of them 
 could only be made at interminable length. 
 
 Just as the gleam of the bayonets of the four soldiers was no 
 longer visible, Captain Merle came back after executing the 
 commandant's orders with lightning speed. With two or 
 three words of command Hulot set the rest of his troop in 
 order of battle in the middle of the road ; then he gave the 
 word to regain the summit of the Pelerine, where his little 
 advance guard was posted, and he himself followed last of all, 
 walking backwards, so that he might see the slightest change 
 that should come over any of the principal points in that 
 view which nature had made so enchanting, and man, so full 
 of terrors. 
 
 Marche-a-Terre had followed all the commandant's ma- 
 noeuvres with indifferent eyes, but he had watched the two 
 soldiers as they penetrated the woods that lay to the right 
 with incredible keenness ; and now, as Hulot reached the 
 spot where Gerard stood on guard over him, Marche-a-Terre 
 began to whistle two or three times in away that imitated the 
 shrill, far-reaching cry of the screech-owl. 
 
 The three notorious smugglers whose names have been 
 already mentioned used to employ some of the notes of that 
 cry at night to give warning of an ambush, of danger, or of 
 anything else that concerned them. In this way the nick- 
 name " Chuin " arose, which, in the dialect of the country, 
 means an owl, or screech-owl. A corruption of the word 
 served to designate those who in the previous war had adopted 
 the tactics and signals of the three brothers, so that when he 
 heard the suspicious whistle the commandant stopped and 
 fixed his gaze on Marche-a-Terre. He affected to be deceived 
 by the Chouan's appearance of imbecility, that he might keep 
 him at his side as a kind of barometer to indicate the enemy's 
 movements. So he caught Gerard's hand as it was raised to 
 dispatch the Chouan, and posted two soldiers a few paces 
 away from the spy, ordering them in loud and distinct tones
 
 THE AMBUSCADE. 29 
 
 to be ready to shoot him down if he attempted to make the 
 slightest signal of any kind. In spite of his imminent peril, 
 Marche-a-Terre showed no sort of perturbation, and the 
 commandant, who was studying him, noticed this indifference. 
 
 " The chap isn't up to everything," he said to Gerard. 
 "Aha! it is not so easy to read a Chouan's face; but this 
 fellow's wish to exhibit his intrepidity has betrayed him. If 
 he had shammed fright, Gerard, I should have taken him for 
 a nincompoop, you see ; and there would have been a pair of 
 us, he and I. I had come to the end of my tether. Ah, 
 we shall be attacked ! But let them come ; I am ready 
 now! " 
 
 The old soldier rubbed his hands triumphantly when he had 
 muttered these words, and looked maliciously at Marche-a- 
 Terre ; then he locked his arms over his chest, took his stand 
 in the middle of the road between his two favorite officers, 
 and awaited the result of the measures he had taken. Sure 
 of the issue, he looked his men over calmly. 
 
 "Oho ! we are going to have a row," said Beau-Pied in a 
 low voice ; " the commandant is rubbing his hands." 
 
 Commandant Hulot and his detachment found themselves 
 in one of those critical positions where life is really at stake, 
 and when men of energetic character feel themselves in 
 honor bound to show coolness and self-possession. Such times 
 bring a man to the final test. The commandant, therefore, 
 who knew the danger better than any of his officers, prided 
 himself on appearing the coolest person present. With his 
 eyes fixed alternately on the woods, the roadway, and Marche- 
 a-Terre, he was expecting the general onslaught of the Chouans 
 (who, as he believed, lay concealed all about them like 
 goblins), with an unmoved face, but not without inward 
 anguish. Just as the men's eyes were all turned upon his, 
 slight creases appeared in the brown cheeks with the scars of 
 smallpox upon them, the commandant screwed his lip sharply 
 up to one side, blinked his eyes, a grimace which was under-
 
 30 THE CHOUANS. 
 
 stood to be a smile by his men, then he clapped Gerard on 
 the shoulder, saying 
 
 " Now we have time to talk. What were you going to say 
 to me just now? " 
 
 "What new crisis have we here, commandant?" 
 
 "It is nothing new," he answered in a low voice ; "all 
 Europe has a chance against us this time. Whilst the directors 
 are squabbling among themselves like horses left in the stable 
 without any oats, and are letting the government go all to 
 pieces, they leave their armies unsupported. We are utterly 
 ruined in Italy. Yes, my friends, we have evacuated Mantua 
 on the top of the disasters at la Trebbia, and Joubert has just 
 lost the battle of Novi. I only hope Massena will guard the 
 Swiss passes, for Suwarroff is overrunning the country. We 
 are beaten along the Rhine. Moreau has been sent out there 
 by the directory. He is a fine fellow, but is he going to 
 keep the frontier? I wish he may, I am sure; but the coali- 
 tion will crush us altogether at last, and unluckily the one 
 general who could save us has gone to the devil down there 
 in Egypt ! And how is he to get back moreover ? England 
 is mistress of the seas." 
 
 "Bonaparte's absence does not trouble me, commandant," 
 said Gerard, his young adjutant, whose superior faculties had 
 been developed by a careful education. " Is our Revolution 
 to end like that ? We are bound to do more than merely 
 defend the soil of France ; ours is a double mission. Ought 
 we not to keep alive the very soul of our country, the gener- 
 ous principles of liberty and independence, that human 
 reason evoked by our assemblies, which is winning its way, I 
 hope, little by little ? France is like a traveler with a light 
 in her keeping ; she must carry it in one hand and defend 
 herself with the other; if your news is well founded, for 
 these ten years past we have never been surrounded by so 
 many who would seek to blow it out. Our doctrines and 
 our country, all alike are about to perish."
 
 THE AMBUSCADE. 31 
 
 "Alas, yes!" sighed the commandant Hulot. "Those 
 mountebanks of directors have managed to quarrel with all 
 the men who could have steered the vessel Bernadotte, 
 Carnot, and every one else down to citizen Talleyrand has 
 abandoned us. There is only one good patriot left in fact, 
 our friend Fouche, who has everything in his hands by police 
 supervision. There is a man for you ! He it was, too, who 
 gave me warning in time of this insurrection, For all that, 
 here we are in some pitfall or other, I am positive." 
 
 " Oh, if the army did not interfere a little in the govern- 
 ment," said Gerard, "the lawyers would put us back in a 
 worse position than we were in before the Revolution. Do 
 those wretches understand how to make themselves obeyed ?" 
 
 " I am always in fear that I shall hear of their treating 
 with the Bourbon princes. Tonnerre de Dieu ! If they came 
 to an understanding, what a fix some of the rest of us 
 would be in out here." 
 
 "No, no, commandant; we shall not come to that," said 
 Gerard. " As you say, the army would make its voice heard ; 
 and so that the army does not pick its words out of Piche- 
 gru's dictionary, we shall not have been cutting ourselves to 
 pieces for ten years, I hope, over carding the flax for others to 
 spin." 
 
 "Well," said Captain Merle, "let us always conduct our- 
 selves here like good patriots, and try to cut off the Chouan 
 communications with la Vendee ; for if once they hear that 
 England has a finger in the matter, I would not answer for 
 the cap of our Republic, one and indivisible." 
 
 Just then the cry of a screech-owl, heard from some con- 
 siderable distance, interrupted the conversation. Still more 
 uneasily the commandant again furtively scrutinized Marche- 
 a-Terre ; there was no sign of animation, so to speak, in his 
 stolid face. The recruits, drawn up together by one of the 
 officers, were mustered like a herd of cattle in the crown of 
 the road, some thirty paces from the troops in order of
 
 32 THE CHOUANS. 
 
 battle. Behind them again, at the distance of some ten 
 paces, came the soldiers and patriots commanded by Lieu- 
 tenant Lebrun. The commandant ran his .eyes over this array, 
 and gave a last glance at the picket posted in advance up 
 the road. Satisfied with this disposition of his forces, he 
 turned to give the order to march, when he saw the tricolor 
 cockades of two of his scouts returning from the search of 
 the woods that lay on the left. As he saw no sign whatever 
 of the two sent to reconnoitre the right-hand woods, the 
 commandant determined to wait for them. 
 
 "Perhaps the trouble is coming from that quarter," he 
 remarked to his two officers as he pointed out the woods 
 which seemed to have swallowed up his two enfants perdus. 
 
 While the two scouts were making some sort of report, 
 Hulot ceased to watch Marche-a-Terre. The Chouan began 
 again to give a sharp whistle, a cry so shrill that it could be 
 heard a long way off; and then, before either of his guards so 
 much as saw what he was after, he dealt them each a blow 
 from his whip-handle that stretched them on the roadside. 
 All at once answering cries, or rather savage yells, startled 
 the Republicans. A terrible fire was opened upon them from 
 the wood that crowned the slope where the Chouan had 
 been sitting, and seven or eight of their men fell. Five or six 
 soldiers had taken aim at Marche-a-Terre, but none of them 
 hit him. He had climbed the slope with the agility of a wild 
 cat and disappeared in the woods above. His sabots rolled 
 down into the ditch, and it was easy then to see upon his feet 
 the great iron-bound shoes which were always worn by the 
 Chasseurs du Roi. At the first alarm given by the Chouans, 
 all the recruits had made a dash for it into the woods on the 
 right, like a flock of birds scared by the approach of a 
 passer-by. 
 
 " Fire on those rascals ! " roared the commandant. 
 
 The company fired, but the recruits were well able to screen 
 themselves from the musket-shots. Every man set his back
 
 THE AMBUSCADE. 33 
 
 against a tree, and before the muskets had been reloaded, they 
 were all out of sight. 
 
 " Issue warrants for a departmental legion, eh ? " Hulot said 
 to Gerard. " One would have to be as big a fool as a direc- 
 tor to put any dependence on a requisition from this district. 
 The assemblies would show more sense if they would send us 
 clothing and money, and ammunition, and give up voting 
 reinforcements." 
 
 " These swine like their bannocks better than ammunition 
 bread," said Beau-Pied, the wag of the company. 
 
 At his words, hooting and yells of derisive laughter went up 
 from the Republican troops, crying shame on the deserters, 
 but a sudden silence followed all at once. The soldiers saw 
 the two scouts who had been sent by the commandant to 
 search the woods on the right, painfully toiling down the 
 slope, the less injured man supporting his comrade, whose 
 blood drenched the earth. The two poor fellows had scarcely 
 reached the middle of the bank when Marche-a-Terre showed 
 his hideous face. His aim was so certain that, with one shot, 
 he hit them both, and they rolled heavily down into the ditch. 
 His huge head had barely shown itself before the muzzles of 
 some thirty muskets were leveled at him ; but he had disap- 
 peared like a phantom behind the ominous gorse bushes. All 
 these things, which it takes so many words to describe, came 
 to pass almost in a moment ; and in a moment more, the 
 patriots and soldiers of the rear-guard came up with the rest 
 of the escort. 
 
 " Forward ! " shouted Hulot. 
 
 The company rapidly gained the high and exposed position 
 where the pickets had been placed. The commandant then 
 drew up his forces in order of battle, but he saw no further 
 hostile demonstration on the part of the Chouans, and thought 
 that the sole object of the ambuscade was the deliverance of 
 his conscripts. 
 
 "Their cries tell me that they are not in great force. Let 
 3
 
 34 THE CHOUANS. 
 
 us march double quick. We may possibly get to Ernee before 
 we have them down upon us." 
 
 A patriot conscript overheard the words, left the ranks, and 
 stood before Hulot. 
 
 "General," said he, " I've seen some of this sort of fight- 
 ing before as a Counter-Chouan. May I put in a word or 
 two?" 
 
 "Here's one of these barrack-lawyers," the commandant 
 muttered in Merle's ears; " they always think they are on for 
 hearing. Go on; argue away," he added to the young man 
 from Fougeres. 
 
 " Commandant, the Chouans have brought arms, of course, 
 for those men that they have just recruited. If we have to run 
 for it now, they will be waiting for us at every turn in the woods, 
 and will pick us off to a man before we can get to Ernee. 
 We must argue, as you say, but it must be with cartridges ; 
 then, during the skirmish, which will last longer than you 
 look for, one of us could go for the National Guard, and the 
 Free Companies stationed at Fougeres. We may be con- 
 scripts, but you shall see by that time that we are not carrion- 
 kites." 
 
 "Then you think the Chouans are here in some force ! " 
 
 " Judge for yourself, citizen-commandant." 
 
 He led Hulot to a spot on the plateau where the sand had 
 been disturbed, as if a rake had been over it ; and, after calling 
 Hulot's attention to this, led him some little way along a foot- 
 path where traces of the passage of a large body of men were 
 distinctly visible. Leaves had been trodden right into the 
 trampled earth. 
 
 "That will be the gars from Vitre," said the Fougerais; 
 "they have gone to join the Bas-Normands." 
 
 " What is your name, citizen ? ' ' asked Hulot. 
 
 "Gudin, commandant." 
 
 " Well, then, Gudin, I shall make you corporal of your 
 townsmen here. You are a long-headed fellow, it seems to
 
 THE AMBUSCADE. 35 
 
 me. I leave it to you to pick out one of your comrades, 
 who must be sent to Fougeres, and you yourself will keep 
 close beside me. But, first, there are these two poor com- 
 rades of ours that those brigands have laid out on the road 
 there you and some of your conscripts can go and take their 
 guns, and clothes, and cartridge-boxes. You shall not stop 
 here to take shots without returning them." 
 
 The brave Fougerais went to strip the dead, protected by 
 an energetic fire kept up upon the woods by the whole com- 
 pany. It had its effect, for the party returned without losing 
 a man. 
 
 " These Bretons will make good soldiers," said Hulot to 
 Gerard, "if their mess happens to take their fancy." 
 
 Gudin's messenger set out at a trot down a pathway that 
 turned off to the left through the woods. The soldiers, ab- 
 sorbed in examining their weapons, prepared for the coming 
 struggle. The commandant passed them in review, smiled 
 encouragingly, and, placing himself with his two favorite 
 officers a step or two in advance, awaited the onset of the 
 Chouans with composure. 
 
 Silence prevailed again, but it was only for a moment. Then 
 three hundred Chouans, dressed exactly like the requisition- 
 aires, issued from the woods to the right. They came on in 
 no order, uttering fearful cries, and occupied the width of the 
 road before the little battalion of Blues. The commandant 
 divided his troops into two equal parts, each part presenting 
 a front of ten men to the enemy. Between these divisions, 
 and in the centre, he placed himself at the head of his band 
 of twelve hastily equipped conscripts. The little army was 
 protected by two wings of twenty-five men each, under the 
 command of Gerard and Merle. These officers were to take 
 the Chouans adroitly in the flank, and to prevent them from 
 scattering about the country s ' egaillier they call the move- 
 ment in the patois of this district, where every peasant would 
 take up his position where he could shoot at the Blues without
 
 36 THE CHOUANS. 
 
 exposing himself, and the Republican troops were utterly at a 
 loss to know where to locate their enemies. 
 
 These arrangements, made with the rapidity demanded by 
 the circumstances, seemed to infuse the commandant's self- 
 reliance into the men, and all advanced upon the Chouans in 
 silence. At the end of the few seconds needed for the two 
 bodies of men to approach each other, there was a sudden 
 discharge at close quarters which scattered death through 
 either rank ; but in a moment the Republican wings had 
 wheeled and taken the Chouans in the flank. These latter 
 had no means of opposing them, and the hot, pertinacious 
 fire of their enemies spread death and disorder in their midst. 
 This manoeuvre nearly redressed the balance of the numbers 
 on either side ; but the courage and firmness of the Chouan 
 character was equal to all tests. They did not give way ; their 
 losses did not shake them ; they closed their ranks and tried 
 to surround the little, dark, compact line of Blues, who ap- 
 peared in the narrow space they occupied like a queen bee in 
 the midst of a swarm. 
 
 Then they engaged in one of those horrible struggles at 
 close quarters, when the rattle of musketry almost ceases, and 
 the click of the bayonets is heard instead, and the ranks meet 
 man to man ; and, courage being equal on either side, the 
 victory is one by sheer force of numbers. At first the 
 Chouans would have carried all before them if the two wings 
 under Merle and Gerard had not brought two or three enfilad- 
 ing volleys to bear on the enemy's rear. By rights the two 
 wings should have stayed where they were, and continued to 
 pick off their formidable foes in this adroit manner ; but the 
 sight of the heroic battalion, now hemmed in on all sides by 
 the Chasseurs du Roi, excited them. They flung themselves 
 like madmen into the struggle on the roadway, bayonet in 
 hand, and redressed the balance again for a few moments. 
 Both sides gave themselves up to a furious zeal, aggravated by 
 the ferocious cruelty of party-spirit that made this war an
 
 THE AMBUSCADE. 37 
 
 exception. Each became absorbed by his own peril, and was 
 silent. The place seemed chill and dark with death. The 
 only sounds that broke the silence, and rose above the clash 
 of weapons and the grating noise of the gravel underfoot, 
 were the deep, hollow groans of those who fell badly wounded, 
 or of the dying as they lay. In the Republican centre the 
 dozen conscripts defended the person of the commandant 
 (who issued continual warnings and orders manifold) with 
 such courage that more than once a soldier here and there had 
 cried, " Bravo, conscripts ! " 
 
 Hulot, the imperturbable and wide-awake, soon noticed 
 among the Chouans a man, also surrounded by picked troops, 
 who appeared to be their leader. It seemed to him very needful 
 to make quite sure of this officer ; now and again he made 
 efforts to distinguish his features, hidden by a crowd of broad 
 hats and red caps, and in this way he recognized Marche-a- 
 Terre beside the officer, repeating his orders in a hoarse voice, 
 while he kept his carbine in constant use. Hulot grew tired 
 of the repeated annoyance. He drew his sword, encouraged 
 his requisitionaires, and dashed so furiously upon the Chouan 
 centre that he penetrated their ranks and caught a glimpse of 
 the officer, whose face, unluckily, was hidden by a large felt 
 hat with a white cockade. But the stranger, taken somewhat 
 aback by this bold onset, suddenly raised his hat. Hulot 
 seized the opportunity to make a rapid survey of his opponent. 
 
 The young chief, who seemed to Hulot to be about twenty- 
 five years of age, wore a short green cloth shooting coat. 
 The white sash at his waist held pistols, the heavy shoes he 
 wore were bound with iron like those of the Chouans ; gaiters 
 reaching to the knee, and breeches of some coarse material, 
 completed the costume. He was of middle height, but well 
 and gracefully made. In his anger at seeing the Blues so 
 near to him, he thrust on his hat again and turned towards 
 them, but Marche-a-Terre and others of his party surrounded 
 him at once, in alarm. Still through gaps in the crowd of
 
 38 THE CHOUANS. 
 
 faces that pressed about the young man and came between 
 them, Hulot felt sure he saw a broad red riband on the officer's 
 unfastened coat, that showed the wearer to be a knight com- 
 mander of the Order of St. Louis. The commandant's eyes, 
 at first attracted by the long-forgotten royal decoration, were 
 turned next upon a face, which he lost sight of again in a 
 moment, for the risks of battle compelled him to watch closely 
 over the safety and the movements of his own little band. 
 He had scarcely time to see the color of the sparkling eyes, 
 but the fair hair and delicately cut features tanned by the sun 
 did not escape him, nor the gleam of a bare neck that seemed 
 all the whiter by contrast with a loosely knotted black scarf. 
 There was the enthusiasm and excitement of a soldier in the 
 bearing of the young leader, and of a type of soldier for 
 whom a certain dramatic element seems desirable in a fight. 
 The hand that swung the sword-blade aloft in the sunlight was 
 well gloved, vigor was expressed in the face, and a certain 
 refinement also in a like degree. In his high-wrought exalta- 
 tion, set off by all the charms of youth and graciousness of 
 manner, he seemed to be a fair ideal type of the French 
 noblesse ; while Hulot, not four paces from him, might have 
 been the embodiment of the energetic Republic for whom the 
 veteran was fighting. His stern face, his blue uniform faced 
 with the worn red facings, the grimy epaulettes that hung 
 back over his shoulders, expressed the character and the 
 deficiencies of their owner. 
 
 The graceful attitude and expression of the younger man were 
 not lost upon Hulot, who shouted as he tried to reach him 
 
 " Here you, ballet-dancer ! come a little nearer, so that I 
 may get a chance at you ! " 
 
 The Royalist leader, irritated by the momentary check, 
 made a desperate forward movement ; but the moment his 
 own men saw the danger he was thus incurring, they all 
 flung themselves upon the Blues. A clear, sweet voice sud- 
 denly rang out above the din of conflict
 
 THE AMBUSCADE. 39 
 
 " Here it was that the sainted Lescure fell ! Will you not 
 avenge him ?" 
 
 At these magical words the Chouaii onset became terrible ; 
 the little troup of Republican soldiers kept their line unbroken 
 with the greatest difficulty. 
 
 "If he had not been a youngster," said Hulot to himself, 
 as he gave way step by step, " we should not have been 
 attacked at all. When did Chouans offer battle before ? But 
 so much the better, they won't shoot us down like dogs along 
 the road." 
 
 He raised his voice till the woods echoed with the words 
 
 " Come, look alive, men ; are we going to let ourselves be 
 fooled by these bandits ? ' ' 
 
 The verb is but a feeble substitute for that of the gallant 
 commander's choice, but old hands will be able to insert the 
 genuine word, which certainly possesses a more soldierly 
 flavor. 
 
 "Gerard, Merle," the commandant continued, "call in 
 your men, form them in columns, and fall on their rear, fire 
 on these curs, and make an end of them ! " 
 
 Hulot's orders were carried out with great difficulty ; for 
 the young chief heard the voice of his antagonist, and 
 shouted 
 
 " Saint Anne of Auray ! Don't let them get away ! 
 Scatter yourselves, my gars ! ' ' 
 
 As either wing commanded by Merle and Gerard with- 
 drew from the thick of the fray, each little column was 
 pertinaciously followed by Chouans in greatly superior num- 
 bers. The old goat-skins surrounded the men under Merle 
 and Gerard on all sides, once more uttering those threatening 
 cries of theirs, like the howls of wild beasts. 
 
 "Silence, gentlemen ! " shouted Beau-Pied; we can't hear 
 ourselves being killed." 
 
 The joke put fresh heart into the Blues. 
 
 The fighting was no longer concentrated upon a single
 
 40 THE CHOUANS. 
 
 point, the Republicans defended themselves in three different 
 places on the plateau of the Pelerine, and the valleys, so quiet 
 hitherto, re-echoed with the sound of the firing. Hours 
 might have passed and left the issue still undecided, or the 
 struggle might have come to an end for lack of combatants. 
 The courage of Blues and Chouans was evenly matched, and 
 the fierce desire of battle was surging as it were from the 
 one side to the other, when far away and faintly there 
 sounded the tap of a drum, and from the direction of the 
 sound the corps that it heralded must be crossing the valley 
 of the Couesnon. 
 
 "That is the National Guard from Fougeres ! " cried 
 Gudin ; " Vannier must have fallen in with them ! " 
 
 His voice reached the young leader and his ferocious aide- 
 de-camp ; the Royalists began to give way ; but a cry like a 
 wild beast's from Marche-a-Terre promptly checked them. 
 Two or three orders were given in a low voice by the chief, 
 and translated by Marche-a-Terre into Bas-Breton for the 
 Chouans ; and the retreat began, conducted with a skill 
 which baffled the Republicans, and even their commandant. 
 In the first place, such of the Chouans as were not disabled 
 drew up in line at the word, and presented a formidable 
 front to the enemy, while the wounded and the remainder 
 of them fell behind to load their guns. Then all at once, 
 with a swiftness of which Marche-a-Terre had given an exam- 
 ple, the wounded from the rear gained the summits of the bank 
 on the right side of the road, and were followed thither by 
 half of the remaining Chouans, who clambered nimbly up, 
 and manned the top of the bank, only their energetic heads 
 being visible to the Blues below. Once there, they made 
 a sort of rampart of the trees, and thence they brought the 
 barrels of their guns to bear upon the remnant of the escort, 
 who had rapidly drawn up in obedience to repeated orders 
 from Hulot, in such a way as to present a front equal to 
 that of the Chouans, who were still occupying the road.
 
 THE AMBUSCADE. 41 
 
 These last fell back, still disputing the ground, and wheeled 
 so as to bring themselves under cover of the fire of their own 
 party. When they reached the ditch which lay by the road- 
 side, they scrambled in their turn up the steep slope, whose 
 top was held by their own comrades, and so rejoined them, 
 steadily supporting the murderous fire of the Republicans, 
 which filled the ditch with dead bodies, the men from the 
 height of the scarp replying the while with a fire no less deadly. 
 
 Just then the National Guard from Fougeres arrived at a 
 run on the scene of the conflict, and with their presence the 
 affair was at an end. A few excited soldiers and the National 
 Guards were leaving the footpath to follow them up in the 
 woods, but the commandant called to them in his soldier's 
 voice, " Do you want to be cut to bits over there? " 
 
 They came up with the Republican troops, who were left in 
 possession of the field indeed, but only after heavy losses. 
 Then all the old hats went aloft on the points of their bayo- 
 nets, while every soldier's voice cried twice over, " Long live 
 the Republic ! " Even the wounded men lying by the road- 
 side shared alike in the enthusiasm, and Hulot squeezed his 
 lieutenant's hand as he said 
 
 "One might call that pluck, eh?" 
 
 Merle was ordered to bury the dead in a ravine by the way- 
 side. Carts and horses were requisitioned from neighboring 
 farms for the wounded, whom their comrades hastened to lay 
 on the clothing taken from the dead. Before they set out, 
 the National Guard from Fougeres. brought a Chouan to 
 Hulot; the man was dangerously wounded, and had been 
 found lying exhausted at the foot of the slope, up which his 
 party had made their escape. 
 
 " Thanks for this prompt stroke of yours, citizen," said the 
 commandant. " Tonnerre de Dieu ! we should have had a 
 bad quarter of an hour but for you. You must look out for 
 yourselves now ; the war has broken out in earnest. Good 
 day, gentlemen ! "
 
 42 THE CHOUANS. 
 
 Hulot turned to his prisoner. 
 
 " What is your general's name ! " 
 
 "The Gars." 
 
 " Who ? Marche-a-Terre ? ' ' 
 
 "No, the Gars." 
 
 " And where does the Gars come from? " 
 
 To this question the Chasseur du Roi made no reply ; his 
 wild, weather-beaten face was drawn with pain; he took his 
 beads and began to mutter a prayer. 
 
 "The Gars is that young ci-devant with the black cravat, 
 no doubt. He has been sent over here by the Tyrant and his 
 allies Pitt and Cobourg " 
 
 Here the Chouan, who had so far seemed unconscious of 
 what was going on, raised his head at the words to say 
 proudly 
 
 " Sent by God and the King ! " 
 
 The energy with which he spoke exhausted his strength. 
 The commandant turned away with a frown. He saw the 
 difficulty of interrogating a dying man, a man, moreover, 
 who bore signs of a gloomy fanaticism in every line of his 
 face. Two of his men stepped forward and took aim at the 
 Chouan ; they were friends of the two poor fellows whom 
 Marche-a-Terre had dispatched so brutally with a blow from 
 his whip at the outset, for both were lying dead at the road- 
 side. The Chouan's steady eyes did not flinch before the 
 barrels of the muskets that they pointed at him, although they 
 fired close to his face. He fell ; but when the men came up 
 to strip the corpse, he shouted again for the last time, "Long 
 live the King!" 
 
 "All right, curmudgeon," said Clef-des-Cceurs. " Be off 
 to your Holy Virgin and get your supper. Didn't he come 
 back and say to our faces, 'Long live the Tyrant,' when we 
 thought it was all over with him." 
 
 "Here, sir," said Beau- Pied; "here are the brigand's 
 papers."
 
 THE AMBUSCADE. 43 
 
 "Look here, though," cried Clef-des-Cceurs ; "here's a 
 fellow been enlisted by the saints above ; he wears their badge 
 here on his chest !" 
 
 Hulot and some others made a group around the Chouan's 
 naked body, and saw upon the dead man's breast a flaming 
 heart tattooed in a bluish color, a token that the wearer had 
 been initiated into the Brotherhood of the Sacred Heart. 
 Under the symbol Hulot made out "Marie Lambrequin," 
 evidently the Chouan's own name. 
 
 " You see that, Clef-des-Cceurs," asked Beau-Pied. " Well, 
 you would guess away for a century and never find out what 
 that part of his accoutrements means." 
 
 " How should / know about the Pope's uniforms?" replied 
 Clef-des-Cceurs. 
 
 " You good-for-nothing flint-crusher, will you never be any 
 wiser? Can't you see that they promised the chap there that 
 he should come to life again ? He painted his gizzard so as 
 to be known by it." There was some ground for the witticism. 
 Hulot himself could not help joining in the general laughter 
 that followed. 
 
 By this time Merle had buried the dead, and the wounded 
 had been laid in the carts as carefully as might be. The other 
 soldiers formed a double file, one on either side of the im- 
 provised ambulance wagons, and in this manner they went 
 down the other side of the mountain, the outlook over Maine 
 before their eyes, and the lovely valley of the Pelerine, which 
 rivals that of Couesnon. Hulot and his two friends, Merle 
 and Gerard, followed slowly after the men, wishing that they 
 might, without further mishap, reach Ernee, where the wounded 
 could be attended to. 
 
 This engagement, though scarcely heard of in France, 
 where great events were even then taking place, attracted 
 some attention in the west, where this second rising filled 
 every one's thoughts. A change was remarked in the methods 
 adopted by the Chouans in the opening of the war ; never
 
 44 THE CHOUANS. 
 
 before had they attacked so considerable a body of troops. 
 Hulot's conjectures led him to suppose that the young Royalist 
 whom he had seen must be "the Gars," a new general sent 
 over to France by the princes, and that his own name and title 
 were concealed after the custom of Royalist leaders by that 
 kind of nickname which is called a nom-de-guerre. This cir- 
 cumstance made him as uneasy after his first dubious victory as 
 he had been on his first suspicion of an ambuscade ; more 
 than once he turned to look at the plateau of La Pelerine, 
 which he was leaving behind, while even yet at intervals the 
 faint sound of a drum reached him, for the National Guard 
 was going down the valley of the Coueson, while they them- 
 selves were descending the valley of La Pelerine. 
 
 " Can either of you suggest their motive for attacking us?" 
 he began abruptly, addressing his two friends. " Fighting is 
 a kind of trade in musket-shots for them, and I cannot see 
 that they have made anything in our case. They must have 
 lost at least a hundred men; while we," he added, screwing 
 up his right cheek, and winking his eyes by way of a smile, 
 " have not lost sixty. By heaven, I can't understand the specu- 
 lation ! The rogues need never have attacked us at all. We 
 should have gone past the place like letters by the post, and I 
 can't see what good it did them to make holes in our fel- 
 lows." 
 
 He pointed dejectedly to the wounded as he spoke. " May 
 be they wanted to wish us good-day," he added. 
 
 "But they have secured a hundred and fifty of our lambs," 
 said Merle, thinking of the recruits. 
 
 " The requisitionaires could have hopped off into the woods 
 like frogs ; we should not have gone in to fish them out again, 
 at any rate not after a volley or two. No, no," went on 
 Hulot, "there is something more behind." 
 
 He turned again to look at La Pelerine. 
 
 " Stay," he cried ; " look there ! " 
 
 Far away as they were from the unlucky plateau by this
 
 THE AMBUSCADE. 45 
 
 time, the practiced eyes of the three officers easily made out 
 Marche-a-Terre and others in possession of the place. 
 
 " Quick march ! " cried Hulot to his troop. "Stir your 
 shanks and make those horses move on faster than that. Are 
 their legs frozen ? Have the beasts also been sent over by 
 Pitt and Cobourg ? " The pace of the little troop was quick- 
 ened by the words. 
 
 " I hope to heaven we shall not have to clear up this 
 mystery at Ernee with powder and ball," he said to the 
 two officers; "it is too dark a business for me to see 
 through readily. I am afraid that we shall be told that 
 the king's subjects have cut off our communications with 
 Mayenne." 
 
 The very strategical problem which made Hulot's moustache 
 bristle, gave anxiety, no whit less keen, to the men whom he 
 had discovered upon the summit of La Pelerine. The drum 
 of the National Guard from Fougeres was hardly out of ear- 
 shot, the Blues had only reached the bottom of the long 
 steep road below, when Marche-a-Terre cheerfully gave the 
 cry of the screech owl again, and the Chouans reappeared, 
 but in smaller numbers. Some of them must have been 
 occupied in bandaging the wounded at the village of La 
 Pelerine, on the side of the hills overlooking the valley of 
 the Couesnon. Two or three Chasseurs du Roi came up to 
 Marche-a-Terre. 
 
 Four paces away the young noble sat musing on a granite 
 boulder, absorbed by the numerous thoughts to which his 
 difficult enterprise gave rise in him. Marche-a-Terre shaded 
 the sun from his eyes with his hand as he dejectedly followed 
 the progress of the Republicans down the valley of La Pelerine. 
 His small keen black eyes were trying to discover what was 
 passing on the horizon where the road left the valley for the 
 opposite hillside. 
 
 " The Blues will intercept the mail," said one of the chiefs 
 sullenly, who stood nearest to Marche-a-Terre.
 
 46 THE CHOUANS. 
 
 " By St. Anne of Auray ! " asked another, " why did you 
 make us fight ? To save your own skin ? " 
 
 Marche-a-Terre 's glance at the speaker was full of malignity ', 
 he rapped the but of his heavy carbine on the ground. " Am 
 I in command?" said he. Then after a pause he went on, 
 " If all of you had fought as I did, not one of the Blues 
 would have escaped," and he pointed to the remnant of 
 Hulot's detachment below, "and perhaps then the coach 
 would have come through as far as here." 
 
 "Do you suppose," asked a third speaker, " that the idea 
 of escorting it, or stopping it either, would have crossed their 
 minds if we had let them pass peaceably? You wanted to 
 save your own hide, you that would have it the Blues were not 
 on the march. He must save his own bacon," he went on, 
 turning to the others, "and the rest of us must bleed for it, 
 and we are likely to lose twenty thousand francs in good gold 
 coin besides." 
 
 "Bacon yourself!" cried Marche-a-Terre, drawing back 
 and bringing his carbine to bear on his adversary. " It's not 
 that you hate the Blues, but that you are fond of money. 
 You shall die without confession, do you hear ? A damned 
 rascal that hasn't taken the sacrament this twelvemonth past." 
 
 The Chouan turned white with rage at this insult, a deep 
 growl came from his chest as he raised his musket and pointed 
 it at Marche-a-Terre. The young leader rushed between 
 them, knocked the firearms out of their hands by striking up 
 their weapons with the stock of his carbine, and demanded an 
 explanation of the quarrel. The dispute had been carried on 
 in Bas-Breton, with which he was not very familiar. 
 
 Marche-a-Terre explained, and ended his discourse with, 
 "It's the more shame to them that bear a grudge against me, 
 my Lord Marquis, for I left Pille-Miche behind, and very 
 likely he will keep the coach out of these robbers' clutches." 
 He pointed to the Blues, for these faithful defenders of altar 
 and throne were all brigands and murderers of Louis XVI.
 
 THE AMBUSCADE. 47 
 
 " What ? " cried the young man angrily. " Do you mean 
 to say you are waiting here to stop a coach ? You cowards, 
 who could not gain the victory in the first encounter with me 
 for your commander ! How is victory possible with such 
 intentions ? So those who fight for God and the King are 
 pillagers? By St. Anne of Auray ! we are making war on the 
 Republic and not on diligences. Any one guilty of such 
 disgraceful actions in the future will not be pardoned, and 
 shall not benefit by the favors destined for brave and faithful 
 servants of the King." 
 
 A murmur like a growl arose from the band. It was easy 
 to see that the authority of the new leader, never very sure 
 over these undisciplined troops, had been compromised. 
 Nothing of this was lost upon the young man, who cast about 
 him for a means of saving his orders from discredit, when the 
 sound of approaching horse-hoofs broke the silence. Every 
 head was turned in the direction whence the sound seemed to 
 come. A young woman appeared, mounted sideways upon a 
 little horse ; her pace quickened to a gallop as soon as she saw 
 the young man. 
 
 " What is the matter?" she asked, looking by turns at the 
 chief and the assembled Chouans. 
 
 " Would you believe it, madame, they are waiting to plun- 
 der the coach that runs between Mayenne and Fougeres, just 
 as we have liberated our gars from Fougeres in a skirmish 
 which has cost us a good many lives, without our being able 
 to demolish the Blues." 
 
 "Very well, but where is the harm?" asked the young 
 lady, whose woman's tact had revealed the secret of this scene 
 to her. "You have lost some men, you say ; we shall never 
 run short of them. The mail is carrying money, and we 
 are always short of that. We will bury our men, who will 
 go to heaven, and we will take the money, which will go 
 into the pockets of these good fellows. What is the objec- 
 tion?"
 
 48 THE CHOUANS. 
 
 Every face among the Chouans beamed with approval at 
 her words. 
 
 "Is there nothing in this to make you blush?" said the 
 young man in a low voice. "Are you in such straits for 
 money that you have to take the road for it ? " 
 
 " I am so in want of it, Marquis, that I could put my heart 
 in pledge for it, I think, if it were still in my keeping," she 
 said, smiling coquettishly at him. " Where can you come 
 from to think of employing Chouans without allowing them 
 to plunder the Blues now and again? Don't you know the 
 proverb, ' Thievish as an owl,' and what else is a Chouan ? 
 Besides," she went on, raising her voice, " is it not a righteous 
 action ? Have not the Blues robbed us, and taken the prop- 
 erty of the Church?" 
 
 Again a murmur from the Chouans greeted her words, a 
 very different sound from the growl with which they had an- 
 swered the Marquis. The color on the young man's brow 
 grew darker, he stepped a little aside with the lady, and began 
 with the lively petulance of a well-bred man 
 
 "Will these gentlemen come to the Vivetiere on the ap- 
 pointed day?" 
 
 "Yes," she answered, "all of them, 1'Intime, Grand 
 Jacques, and possibly Ferdinand." 
 
 " Then permit me to return thither, for I cannot sanction 
 such brigandage by my presence. Yes, madame, I say it is 
 brigandage. A noble may allow himself to be robbed, but 
 
 "Very well then," she broke in; "I shall have your 
 share, and I am obliged to you for giving it up to me. 
 The prize money will put me in funds. My mother has 
 delayed sending money to me for so long that I am fairly 
 desperate." 
 
 "Good-bye," said the Marquis, and he disappeared. The 
 lady hurried quickly after him. 
 
 " Why won't you stay with me? " she asked, with a glance 
 half-tyrannous, half-tender ; such a glance as a woman gives to
 
 THE AMBUSCADE. 49 
 
 a man over whom she exerts a claim, when she desires to make 
 her wishes known to him. 
 
 " Are you not going to plunder the coach? " 
 
 " Plunder ?" she repeated; "what a strange expression! 
 Let me explain " 
 
 " Not a word," he said, taking both her hands and kissing 
 them with a courtier's ready gallantry. "Listen to me," he 
 went on, after a pause, " if I were to stay here while they 
 stop the coach, our people would kill me, for I should " 
 
 " They would not kill you," she answered quickly ; " they 
 would tie your hands together, always with due respect to 
 your rank ; and after levying upon the Republicans a contri- 
 bution sufficient for their equipment and maintenance, and 
 for some purchases of gunpowder, they would again obey you 
 blindly." 
 
 "And you would have me command here? If my life is 
 necessary to the cause for which I am fighting, you must allow 
 me to save my honor as a commander. I can pass over this 
 piece of cowardice if it is done in my absence. I will come 
 back again to be your escort." 
 
 He walked rapidly away. The young lady heard the sound 
 of his footsteps with evident vexation. When the sound of 
 his tread on the dead rustling leaves had died away, she waited 
 a while like one stupefied, then she hurried back to the 
 Chouans. An abrupt scornful gesture escaped her ; she said 
 to Marche-a-Terre, who was aiding her to dismount, "The 
 young man wants to open war on the Republic in regular 
 form ! Ah, well, he will alter his mind in a day or two. 
 But how he has treated me !" she said to herself after a pause. 
 
 She sat down on a rock where the Marquis had been sitting, 
 and waited the coming of the coach in silence. It was not 
 one of the least significant signs of the times that a young and 
 noble lady should be thus brought by violent party feeling into 
 the struggle between the monarchies and the spirit of the age, 
 impelled by the strength of those feelings to assist in deeds, 
 4
 
 50 THE CHOUANS. 
 
 to which she yet was (so to speak) not an accessory, led like 
 many another by an exaltation of soul that sometimes brings 
 great things to pass. Many a woman, like her, played a part 
 in those troubled times ; sometimes it was a sorry one, some- 
 times the part of a heroine. The Royalist cause found no 
 more devoted and active emissaries than among such women 
 as these. 
 
 In expiation of the errors of devotion, or for the mischances 
 of the false position in which these heroines of their cause were 
 placed, perhaps none suffered so bitterly as the lady at that 
 moment seated on a slab of granite by the wayside ; yet even in 
 her despair she could not but admire the noble pride and the 
 loyalty of the young chief. Insensibly she fell to musing 
 deeply. Bitter memories awoke that made her look longingly 
 back to early and innocent days, and regret that she had not 
 fallen a victim to this Revolution, whose progress such weak 
 hands as hers could never stay. 
 
 The coach, which had counted for something in the Chouan 
 attack, had left the village of Ernee some moments before the 
 two parties began skirmishing. Nothing reveals the character 
 of a country more clearly than its means of communication. 
 Looked at in this light, the coach deserves special attention. 
 The Revolution itself was powerless to destroy it ; it is going 
 yet in our own day. 
 
 When Turgot resumed the monopoly of conveyance of 
 passengers throughout France, which Louis XIV. had granted 
 to a company, he started the fresh enterprise which gave his 
 name to the coaches or " turgotines ; " and then out into 
 the provinces went the old chariots of Messrs, de Vousges, 
 Chauteclaire, and the widow Lacombe, to do service upon 
 the highways. One of these miserable vehicles came and 
 went between Mayenne and Fougeres. They were called 
 "turgotines" out of pure perversity and by way of anti- 
 phrasis ; perhaps a dislike for the minister who started the in- 
 novation, or a desire to mimic Paris, suggested the appellation.
 
 THE AMBUSCADE. 51 
 
 This " turgotine " was a crazy cabriolet, with two enor- 
 mous wheels : its back seat, which scarcely afforded room 
 for two fairly stout people, served also as a box for carrying 
 the mails. Some care was required not to overload the 
 feeble structure ; but if travelers carried any luggage, it had 
 to lie in the bottom of the coach, a narrow box-like hole 
 shaped like a pair of bellows, where their feet and legs were 
 already cramped for room. The original color of the body 
 and the wheels offered an insoluble enigma to the attention 
 of passengers. Two leather curtains, unmanageable in spite 
 of their long service, protected the sufferers from wind and 
 weather. The driver, seated in front on a rickety bench, 
 as in the wretchedest chaises about Paris, was perforce 
 included in the conversation, by reason of his peculiar posi- 
 tion among his victims, biped and quadruped. There were 
 fantastic resemblances between the vehicle and some decrepit 
 old man who has come through so many bronchial attacks and 
 apoplectic seizures that death seems to respect him. It went 
 complainingly, and creaked at every other moment. Like a 
 traveler overtaken by heavy slumber, it lurched backwards 
 and forwards, as if it would fain have resisted the strenuous 
 efforts of the little Breton horses that dragged it over a toler- 
 ably uneven road. This relic of a bygone time held three 
 passengers ; their conversation had been interrupted at Ernee 
 while the horses were changed, and was now resumed as they 
 left the place. 
 
 "What makes you think that the Chouans will show them- 
 selves out here? " asked the driver. "They have just told 
 me at Ernee that the commandant Hulot had not yet left 
 Fougeres." 
 
 "It's all very well for you, friend," said the youngest of 
 the three ; " you risk nothing but your own skin. If you 
 were known as a good patriot and carried three hundred 
 crowns about you, as I do, you wouldn't take things so 
 easily."
 
 52 THE CHOLANS. 
 
 "In any case, you are very imprudent," said the driver, 
 shaking his head. 
 
 "You may count your sheep and yet the wolf will get 
 them," said the second person. He was dressed in black, 
 looked about forty years of age, and seemed to be a rector 
 thereabouts. His double chin and florid complexion marked 
 him out as belonging to the Church. Short and stout though 
 he was, he displayed a certain agility each time he got in or 
 out'of the conveyance. 
 
 "Are you Chouans ? " cried the owner of the three hun- 
 dred crowns. His voluminous goat-skin cloak covered breeches 
 of good cloth and a very decent waistcoat, all signs of a well- 
 to-do farmer. " By the soul of St. Robespierre," he went 
 on, "you shall be well received " 
 
 He looked from the driver to the rector, and showed them 
 both the pistols at his waist. 
 
 "Bretons are not to be frightened that way," said the 
 cure; and besides that, do we look as if we wanted your 
 money?" 
 
 " Each time the word money was mentioned the driver be- 
 came silent. The rector's wits were keen enough to make him 
 suspect that the patriot had no money, and that there was 
 some cash in the keeping of their charioteer. 
 
 " Have you much of a load, Coupiau? " he inquired. 
 
 "Next to nothing, as you may say, Monsieur Gudin," 
 replied the driver. 
 
 Monsieur Gudin looked inquiringly from Coupiau to the 
 patriot at this, but both countenances were alike imperturbable. 
 
 "So much the better for you," answered the patriot. " I 
 shall take my own measures for protecting my money if any- 
 thing goes wrong." 
 
 This direct assumption of despotic authority provoked 
 Coupiau into replying roughly 
 
 "I am the master here in the coach, and so long as I 
 take you to "
 
 THE AMBUSCADE. 53 
 
 "Are you a patriot or a Chouan ? " interrupted his adver- 
 sary sharply. 
 
 * I am neither," answered Coupiau; "I am a postilion, 
 and, what is more, a Breton ; and therefore I am not afraid 
 of Blues nor of gentlemen." 
 
 "Gentlemen of the road, you mean," said the patriot 
 sardonically. 
 
 " They only take what others have taken from them," put 
 in the rector quickly, while the eyes of either traveler stared 
 at the other as if to penetrate into the other's brain. In 
 the interior of the coach sat a third passenger, who remained 
 absolutely silent through the thick of the debate. Neither 
 the driver, the patriot, nor Gudin himself took the slightest 
 heed of his nonentity. As a matter of fact, he was one of 
 those tiresome and inconvenient people who travel by coach as 
 passively as a calf that is carried with its legs tied up to a neigh- 
 boring market. At the outset they possess themselves of at least 
 the space allotted to them by the regulations, and end by 
 sleeping without consideration or humanity on their neighbor's 
 shoulders. The patriot, Gudin, and the driver had let him 
 alone, thinking that he was asleep, as soon as they had ascer- 
 tained that it was useless to attempt to converse with a man 
 whose stony countenance bore the records of a life spent in 
 measuring ells of cloth, and a mind bent solely upon buying 
 cheap and selling dear. Yet, in the corner where he lay curled 
 up, a pair of china-blue eyes opened from time to time ; 
 the stout, little man had viewed each speaker in turn with 
 alarm, doubt, and mistrust, but he seemed to stand in fear of 
 his traveling companions, and to trouble himself very little 
 about Chouans. The driver and he looked at one another 
 like a pair of freemasons. Just then the firing began at La Pel- 
 erine ; Coupiau stopped in dismay, not knowing what to do. 
 
 " Oh, ho ! " said the churchman, who seemed to grasp the 
 situation; "this is something serious. There are a lot of 
 people about."
 
 54 THE CHOUANS. 
 
 <l The question is, who will get the best of it, M. Gudin ? " 
 cried Coupiau, and this time the same anxiety was seen on 
 all faces. 
 
 " Let us put up at the inn down there, and hide the coach 
 till the affair is decided," suggested Coupiau. 
 
 This advice seemed so sound that Coupiau acted upon it, 
 and with the patriot's help concealed the coach behind a pile 
 of faggots. 
 
 The supposed rector found an opportunity of whispering to 
 Coupiau 
 
 " Has he really any money ? " 
 
 " Eh, M. Gudin, if all he has found its way into your 
 reverence's pockets they would not be very heavy." 
 
 The Republicans, hurrying to reach Ernee, came past the 
 inn without stopping there. The sound of their rapid march 
 brought Gudin and the innkeeper to the door to watch them 
 curiously. All at once the stout ecclesiastic made a dash at a 
 soldier who was lagging behind. 
 
 "Eh?" he cried, "Gudin! Are you really going with 
 the Blues? Infatuated boy! Do you know what you are 
 about?" 
 
 "Yes, uncle," answered the corporal; "I have sworn to 
 fight for France !" 
 
 "But your soul is in danger, scapegrace," cried his uncle, 
 appealing to the religious scruples that are so strong in Breton 
 hearts. 
 
 " Well, uncle, I won't say but that if the king had put 
 himself at the head of his " 
 
 "Idiot! Who is talking about the king? Will your 
 Republic give preferment ? It has upset everything ! What 
 kind of a career do you expect ? Stay with us ; we shall 
 triumph some day or other, and then you shall be made coun- 
 cillor to some Parliament." 
 
 " A Parliament ?" asked Gudin mockingly. "Good-bye, 
 uncle ! "
 
 THE AMBUSCADE. 55 
 
 "You shall not have the worth of three louis from me; I 
 shall disinherit you," his uncle called angrily after him. 
 
 "Thanks," said the Republican, and they parted. 
 
 The fumes of cider to which the patriot had treated Coupiau 
 while the little troop was passing had succeeded in obscuring 
 the driver's intelligence somewhat ; but he brightened up 
 again when the landlord, having learned the upshot of the 
 struggle, brought the news of a victory for the Blues. Coupiau 
 brought out his coach upon the road again, and they were not 
 long in showing themselves in the bottom of the valley of 
 La Pelerine. From the plateaux of Maine and of Brittany 
 both it was easy to see the coach lying in the trough between 
 two great waves, like a bit of wreckage after a storm at sea. 
 
 Hulot meanwhile had reached the summit of a slope that 
 the Blues were climbing. La Pelerine was still in sight, a 
 long way off, so he turned to see if the Chouans still remained 
 on the spot. The sunlight shining on the barrels of their 
 muskets marked them out for him as a little group of bright 
 dots. As he scanned the valley for the last time before quit- 
 ting it for the valley of Ernee, he thought he could discern 
 Coupiau's chariot on the high road. 
 
 "Isn't that the Mayenne coach?" he asked of his two 
 comrades, who turned their attention to the old turgotine and 
 recognized it perfectly well. 
 
 " Well, then, how was it that we did not meet it?" asked 
 Hulot, as all three looked at each other in silence. 
 
 " Here is one more enigma," he went on; "but I begin 
 to have an inkling of the truth." 
 
 Just at that very instant Marche-a-Terre also discovered the 
 turgotine, and pointed it out to his comrades. A general 
 outburst of rejoicing aroused the young lady from her musings. 
 She came forward and saw the coach as it sped up the hillside 
 with luckless haste. The miserable turgotine reached the 
 plateau almost immediately; and the Chouans, who had 
 hidden themselves, once more rushed out upon their prey in
 
 56 THE CHOUANS. 
 
 greedy haste. The dumb traveler slipped down into the 
 bottom of the coach, and cowered there, trying to look like a 
 package. 
 
 "Well," cried Coupiau from the box, "so you have smelt 
 out the patriot there ! He has money about him a bag full 
 of gold ; " and as he spoke, he pointed out the small farmer, 
 only to find that the Chouans hailed his remarks with a 
 general roar of laughter and shouts of "Pille-Miche ! Pille- 
 Miche ! Pille-Miche ! " In the midst of the hilarity, which 
 Pille-Miche himself echoed, Coupiau came down from the 
 box in confusion. The famous Cibot, alias Pille-Miche, aided 
 his companion to alight, and a respectful murmur arose. 
 
 "It is the Abbe Gudin," cried several voices. 
 
 All hats went off at the name, and the Chouans knelt to 
 ask for his blessing, which was gravely given. 
 
 Then the Abbe clapped Pille-Miche on the shoulder. 
 
 " He would deceive St. Peter himself, and steal away the 
 keys of Paradise ! " he cried. " But for him the Blues would 
 have stopped us;" and, seeing the young lady, he spoke 
 with her a few paces aside. Marche-a-Terre adroitly raised 
 the seat of the coach, and with ferocious glee extracted a bag 
 which, from its shape, evidently contained rouleaux of gold. 
 He was not long about dividing the spoil. There were no 
 disputes, for each Chouan received his exact share. Lastly, 
 he went up to the lady and the priest, and presented them 
 with about six thousand francs. 
 
 " Can I take this with a clear conscience, Monsieur Gudin ?' ' 
 the lady asked, feeling within her the need of a sanction. 
 
 " Why not, madame ? In former times, did not the Church 
 approve the confiscation of Protestant goods? We have 
 stronger reasons for despoiling these revolutionaries, who deny 
 God, plunder churches, and persecute religion ? Thereupon 
 the Abbe added example to precept, and took without scruple 
 the tenth in new coin which Marche-a-Terre offered him. 
 
 "However," he added, "I can now dedicate all I have to
 
 THE AMBUSCADE. 57 
 
 the service of God and the King. My nephew has cast in his 
 lot with the Blues." 
 
 Coupiau was lamenting, and bewailed himself for a ruined 
 man. 
 
 "Come along with us," said Marche-a-Terre ; "you shall 
 have your share." 
 
 " Every one will say that I set out to be robbed, if I go 
 back again, and there are no traces of violence." 
 
 "Oh, if that is all you want," said Marche-a-Terre. He 
 made a sign, and a volley of musketry riddled the turgotine. 
 The old coach gave a cry so piteous at this salute, that the 
 Chouans, naturally superstitious, fell back in alarm, save 
 Marche-a-Terre, who had seen the pale face of the mute 
 traveler as it rose and fell inside. 
 
 "There is one more fowl yet in your coop," Marche-a- 
 Terre said in a low voice to Coupiau. Pille-Miche, who saw 
 what this' meant, winked significantly. 
 
 "Yes," replied the driver; "but I made it a condition 
 when I enlisted with you that I was to take this worthy man 
 safe and sound to Fougeres. I promised that in the name of 
 the Saint of Auray ! " 
 
 "Who is he? " asked Pille-Miche. 
 
 " I can't tell you that," said Coupiau. 
 
 "Let him alone!" said Marche-a-Terre, nudging Pille- 
 Miche with his elbow. " He swore by the holy Virgin of 
 Auray, and a promise is a promise. But don't be in too great 
 hurry down the hill," the Chouan went on, addressing Coupiau ; 
 "we will catch you up for reasons of our own. I want to 
 see the muzzle of that passenger of yours, and then we will 
 give him a passport." 
 
 A horse was heard approaching La Pelerine at full gallop. 
 In a moment the young leader returned, and the lady promptly 
 tried to conceal her hand with the bag in it. 
 
 "You need not scruple to keep that money," he said, 
 drawing the lady's arm forward. " Here is a letter for you
 
 58 THE CHOUANS. 
 
 among those that awaited me at the Vivetiere; it is from 
 your mother." 
 
 He looked from the coach, which now descended the hill, 
 to the Chouans, and added, " In spite of my haste, I am too 
 late. Heaven send that my fears are ill-grounded ! " 
 
 " That is my poor mother's money ! " cried the lady, when 
 she had broken the seal of the letter and read the first few 
 lines. 
 
 Sounds of smothered laughter came from the woods. 
 
 The young man himself could not help smiling at sight of 
 the lady with a share of the plunder of her own property in 
 her hands. She began to laugh herself. 
 
 "Well, I escape without blame for once, Marquis," she 
 said. " Heaven be praised ! " 
 
 "So you take all things with alight heart, even remorse?" 
 the young man asked ; but she flushed up with such evident 
 contrition that he relented. The Abbe politely handed to 
 her the tenth he had just received with as good a face as he 
 could put upon it, and followed the young leader, who was 
 returning by the way he had come. The young lady waited 
 behind for a moment, and beckoned to Marche-a-Terre. 
 
 "You must go over towards Mortagne," she said in a low 
 voice. " I know that the Blues must be continually transmit- 
 ting large sums of money to Alen^on for the prosecution of 
 the war. I give up to your comrades the money I have lost 
 to-day; but I shall expect them to make it up to me. And 
 before all things, the Gars is not to know the reason for this ex- 
 pedition ; but if anything should go wrong, I will pacify him." 
 
 "Madame," the Marquis began, as she sat behind him 
 en croupe, having made over her horse to the Abbe," our 
 friends in Paris are writing to tell us to keep a sharp lookout, 
 for the Republic means to take us with craft and guile." 
 
 "Well, they might do worse," she replied; "it is not at 
 all a bad idea of theirs. I shall take part now in the war, 
 and meet the enemy on my own ground."
 
 THE AMBUSCADE. 59 
 
 " Faith, yes," said the Marquis. "Pichegru warns me to 
 be on my guard as to friendships of every kind. The Repub- 
 lic does me the honor to consider me more formidable than 
 all the Vendeans put together, and thinks to get me into its 
 grasp by working on my weaknesses." 
 
 "Are you going to suspect me?" she asked, tapping his 
 breast with the hand by which she held him close to her. 
 
 " Would you be there, in my heart, if I could ? " he said, 
 and turned to receive a kiss on his forehead. 
 
 " Then we are likely to run more risks from Fouche's police 
 than from regular troops or from Counter-Chouans," was the 
 Abbe's comment. 
 
 " Your reverence is quite right." 
 
 " Ah, ha! " the lady exclaimed, " so Fouchg is going to 
 send women against you? I am ready for them," she added 
 after a brief pause, with a deeper note in her voice. 
 
 Meantime, some four gunshots from the lonely plateau 
 which the leaders had just quitted, a drama was being enacted 
 of a kind to be common enough on the highways for some 
 time. Beyond the little village of La Pelerine, Pille-Miche 
 and Marche-a-Terre had again stopped the coach in a place 
 where the road widened out. Coupiau, after a feeble resist- 
 ance, came down from the box. The taciturn traveler, 
 dragged from his hiding-place by the two Chouans, found 
 himself on his knees in a bush of broom. 
 
 "Who are you?" asked Marche-a-Terre in threatening 
 tones. The traveler did not answer at all till Pille-Miche 
 recommenced his examination with a blow from the butt end 
 of his musket. Then, with a glance at Coupiau, the man 
 spoke 
 
 "I am Jacques Pinaud, a poor linen-draper." Coupiau 
 seemed to think that he did not break his word by shaking his 
 head. Pille-Miche acted on the hint, and pointed his musket 
 at the traveler, while Marche-a-Terre deliberately uttered this 
 terrible ultimatum
 
 60 THE CHOUANS. 
 
 " You are a great deal too fat to know the pinch of poverty. 
 If we have to ask you for your name again, here is my friend 
 Pille-Miche with his musket, ready to earn the esteem and 
 gratitude of your heirs. Now, who are you?" he asked, 
 after a pause. 
 
 "I am d'Orgemont of Fougeres." 
 
 " Ha ! " cried the two Chouans. 
 
 "/ did not betray you, Monsieur d'Orgemont," said 
 Coupiau. "The holy Virgin is my witness that I did my 
 best to protect you." 
 
 "Since you are Monsieur d'Orgemont of Fougeres," re- 
 plied Marche-a-Terre with a fine affectation of respect, "of 
 course we must let you go in peace. But still, as you are 
 neither good Chouan nor genuine Blue (for you it was who 
 bought the property of the Abbey of Juvigny), you are 
 going to pay us three hundred crowns " here he seemed 
 to count the number of the party and went on, "of six 
 francs each. Neutrality is cheap at the price." 
 
 "Three hundred crowns of six francs each ! " echoed the 
 unlucky banker in chorus with Coupiau and Pille-Miche, each 
 one with a different intonation. 
 
 " My dear sir, I am a ruined man," he cried. " This devil 
 of a Republic taxes us up to the hilt, and this forced loan of a 
 hundred millions has drained me dry." 
 
 " How much did your Republic want of you?" 
 
 "A thousand crowns, my dear sir," groaned the banker, 
 thinking to be let off more easily. 
 
 " If your Republic wrings forced loans out of you to that 
 tune, you ought to throw in your lot with us. Our govern- 
 ment will cost you less. Three hundred crowns isn't your 
 skin worth that ? " 
 
 " Where am I to find them ? " 
 
 " In your strong box," said Pille-Miche. " And'no clipped 
 coins, mind you, or the fire shall nibble your finger ends ! " 
 
 " Where am I to pay them over ? "
 
 THE AMBUSCADE. 61 
 
 " Your country-house at Fougeres is not very far from the 
 farm of Gibarry, where lives my cousin Galope-Chopine, 
 otherwise big Cibot. You will make them over to him," 
 said Pille-Miche. 
 
 "It is not business," urged d'Orgemont. 
 
 " What is that to us ? " said Marche-a-Terre. " Mind this, 
 if the money isn't paid to Galope-Chopine within a fortnight, 
 we will pay you a call, and that will cure the gout in your feet, 
 if it happens to trouble you. As for you, Coupiau," he 
 turned to the driver, " your name in future will be Mene-a- 
 Bien." 
 
 With that the two Chouans departed. The traveler re- 
 turned to the coach, and, with the help of Coupiau's whip, 
 they bowled rapidly along to Fougeres. 
 
 "If you had carried arms," Coupiau began, "we might 
 have defended ourselves better." 
 
 " Simpleton ! " replied the banker ; " I have ten thousand 
 francs there," and he held out his great shoes. " How is one 
 to show fight with a large sum like that about one ? " 
 
 Mene-a-Bien scratched his ear and sent a glance behind 
 him, but his new friends were quite out of sight. 
 
 At Ernee Hulot and his men halted awhile to leave the 
 wounded in the hospital in the little town, and finally arrived 
 at Mayenne without any further annoyance. The next day 
 put an end to the commandant's doubts as to the fate of the 
 stage-coach, for everybody knew how it had been stopped and 
 plundered. 
 
 A few days after, the authorities directed upon Mayenne 
 enough patriot conscripts to fill the gaps in Hulot's demi- 
 brigade. Very soon one disquieting rumor followed another 
 concerning the insurrection. There was complete revolt at 
 all the points which had been centres of rebellion for Chouans 
 and Vendeans in the late war. In Brittany the Royalists had 
 made themselves masters of Pontorson, thus securing their 
 communications with the sea. The little town of Saint James
 
 62 THE CHOUANS. 
 
 between Pontorson and Fougereshad been taken by them, and 
 it appeared that they meant to make it their temporary head- 
 quarters, their central magazine, and basis of operations. 
 Thence they kept up a correspondence with Normandy and 
 Morbihan in security. The Royalists of the three provinces 
 were brought into concerted action by subaltern officers dis- 
 persed throughout the country, who recruited partisans for the 
 monarchy, and gave unity to their methods. Exactly similar 
 reports came from La Vendee, where conspiracy was rife in 
 the country under the guidance of four well-known leaders 
 the Counts of Fontaine, Chatillon, and Suzannet, and the 
 Abb6 Vernal. In Orne their correspondents were said to be 
 the Chevalier de Valois, the Marquis of Escrignon, and the 
 Troisvilles. The real head and centre of the vast and formid- 
 able plan of operations, that gradually became manifest, was 
 the Gars, for so the Chouans had dubbed the Marquis of 
 Montauran since his arrival among them. 
 
 Hulot's dispatches to his government were found to be ac- 
 curate on all heads. The authority of the newly-arrived 
 commander had been recognized at once. The Marquis had 
 even sufficient ascendency over the Chouans to make them 
 understand the real aim of the war, and to persuade them 
 that the excesses of which they had formerly been guilty, 
 sullied the generous cause which they had embraced. The 
 cool courage, splendid audacity, resource, and ability of the 
 young noble were reviving the hopes of the foes of the Re- 
 public, and had excited the sombre enthusiasm of the west to 
 such a pitch that even the most lukewarm were ready to take 
 part in a bold stroke for the fallen monarchy. Hulot's re- 
 peated reports and appeals received no reply from Paris ; some 
 fresh revolutionary crisis, no doubt, caused the astonishing 
 silence. 
 
 " Are appeals to the government going to be treated like a 
 creditor's duns?" said the old chief to his friends. " Are all 
 our petitions shoved out of sight?"
 
 THE AMBUSCADE- 63 
 
 But before long news began to spread of the magical return 
 of General Bonaparte, and the events of the eighteenth of 
 Brumaire. Then the commanders in the west began to under- 
 stand the silence of the ministers, while they grew impatient 
 of the heavy responsibilities that weighed upon them, and 
 eager to hear what steps the new government meant to take. 
 Great was the joy in the army when it became known that 
 General Bonaparte had been nominated First Consul of the 
 Republic, and for the first time they saw a man of their own 
 at the head of affairs. France had made an idol of the young 
 general, and trembled with hope. The capital, grown weary 
 of gloom, gave itself up to festivities long discontinued. The 
 first acts of the consulate abated these hopes no whit, and 
 gave liberty no qualms. The First Consul issued a proclama- 
 tion to the dwellers in the west. Bonaparte had, one might 
 almost say, invented the appeals to the massess which pro- 
 duced such enormous effect in those days of miracles and 
 patriotism. A prophetic voice it was which filled the world, 
 for victory had never yet failed to follow any proclamation 
 of his. 
 
 " Inhabitants ! 
 
 " For the second time an unnatural war has been kindled 
 in the departments of the west. 
 
 "The authors of these troubles are traitors in the pay of 
 England, or marauders who hope to secure their own ends, 
 and to enjoy immunity amid civil discords. 
 
 " To such men as these the government owes neither con- 
 sideration nor an explanation of its principles. 
 
 " But there are other citizens, dear to their country, who 
 have been seduced by their artifices; to these citizens enlight- 
 enment and knowledge of the truth is due. 
 
 " Unjust laws have been promulgated and carried into effect. 
 The security of citizens and their right to liberty of con- 
 science have been infringed by arbitrary measures ; citizens 
 have suffered everywhere from mistaken entries on the list of
 
 64 THE CHOUANS. 
 
 emigrants, great principles of social order have been violated. 
 The consuls declare that liberty of worship being guar- 
 anteed by the constitution, the law of the nth Prairial Year 
 III., by which citizens are allowed the use of buildings erected 
 for religious worship, shall now be carried into effect. 
 
 "The government will pardon previous offences; it will 
 extend mercy and absolute and complete indemnity to the 
 repentant ; but it will strike down any who shall dare, after 
 this declaration, to resist the national sovereignty." 
 
 "Well," said Hulot, after a public reading of the consular 
 manifesto, "could anything be more paternal? But for all 
 that, you will see that not a single Royalist brigand will change 
 his opinion." 
 
 The commandant was right. The proclamation only con- 
 firmed each one in his adherence to his own side. Reinforce- 
 ments for Hulot and his colleagues arrived a few days later. 
 They were notified by the new minister of war that General 
 Brune was about to assume command in the west ; but in the 
 meanwhile Hulot, as an officer known to be experienced, was 
 intrusted with the departments of the Orne and Mayenne. 
 Every government department showed unheard-of energy. 
 A circular from the minister of war and the minister-general 
 of police gave out that active efforts were to be made through 
 the officers in command to stifle the insurrection ." at its place 
 of origin." But by this time the Ghouans and Vendeans, 
 profiting by the inaction of the Republic, had aroused the 
 whole country and made themselves masters of it. So a new 
 consular proclamation had to be issued. 
 
 This time the General spoke to his troops 
 
 "Soldiers, all who now remain in the west are marauders 
 or emigrants in the pay of England. 
 
 " The army numbers more than sixty thousand heroes; let 
 me learn soon that the rebel leaders exist no longer. Glory 
 is only to be had at the price of fatigue ; who would not 
 acquire it if it were to be gained by stopping in town quarters ?
 
 THE AMBUSCADE. 65 
 
 " Soldiers, no matter what your rank in the army, the grati- 
 tude of the nation awaits you. To be worthy of that gratitude 
 you must brave the inclemency of the seasons, frost and snow, 
 and the bitter cold of winter nights; you must surprise your 
 enemies at daybreak and destroy those wretches who disgrace 
 the name of Frenchmen. 
 
 "Let the campaign be short and sharp; show no mercy 
 to the marauders, and preserve strict discipline among your- 
 selves. 
 
 " National Guards, add your efforts to those of the troops 
 of the line. 
 
 " If you know of any partisans of the bandits among your- 
 selves, arrest them ! Let them nowhere find a refuge from 
 the soldier who pursues them; and should traitors dare to 
 receive and protect them, let both alike perish ! " 
 
 " What a fellow," cried Hulot ; " it is just as it used to be 
 in Italy ; first he rings the bells for mass, and then he goes 
 and says it. Isn't that plain speaking? " 
 
 "Yes, but he speaks for himself and in his own name," 
 said Gerard, who began to feel some concern for the results of 
 the eighteenth of Brumaire. 
 
 " Eh ! Sainte gucriie, what does it matter ! Isn't he a 
 soldier ? " cried Merle. 
 
 A few paces away some soldiers had made a group about 
 the placard on the wall. As no one among them could read, 
 they eyed it, some with curiosity, others with indifference, 
 while one or two looked out for some passing citizen who 
 should appear scholar enough to decipher it. 
 
 " What does that scrap of paper mean, now, Clef-des- 
 Cceurs?" asked Beau-Pied, banteringly. 
 
 "It is quite easy to guess," said Clef-des-Cceurs. Every- 
 body looked up at these words for the usual comedy to begin 
 between the two comrades. 
 
 " Now look here," went on Clef-des-Cceurs, pointing to a 
 rough vignette at the head of the proclamation, where a pair 
 5
 
 66 THE CHOUANS. 
 
 of compasses had in the past few days replaced the plumb-line 
 level of 1793. "That means that we soldiers will have to 
 step out. That's why the compasses are open ; it's an emblem." 
 
 " No, my boy, you can't come the scholar over us. That 
 thing is called a problem. I served once in the artillery," 
 he added, " and that was what my officers fairly lived on." 
 
 "It's an emblem." 
 
 "A problem." 
 
 " Let us lay a bet on it." 
 
 "What?" 
 
 " Will you stake your German pipe? " 
 
 "Done! " 
 
 " No offence to you, sir ! " said Clef-des-Cceurs to Gerard ; 
 " but isn't that an emblem and not a problem ? " 
 
 "It is both the one and the other," said Gerard gravely. 
 He was musing as he prepared to follow Hulot and Merle. 
 
 "The adjutant is laughing at us," said Beau-Pied; "that 
 paper says that our general in Italy has been made consul, 
 which is a fine promotion, and we are all to have new caps 
 and shoes."
 
 II 
 
 A NOTION OF FOUCHE'S. 
 
 ONE morning towards the end of the month of Brumaire, 
 after an order from the government had concentrated Hulot's 
 troops upon Mayenne, that officer was engaged in drilling his 
 demi-brigade. An express from Alengon arrived with dis- 
 patches, which he read, while intense annoyance expressed 
 itself in his face. 
 
 " Come, forward ! " he cried peevishly, stuffing the papers 
 into his hat. "Two companies are to set out with me to 
 march upon Mortagne. The Chouans are there. You shall 
 accompany me," he said, turning to Merle and Gerard. 
 " May I be ennobled if I understand a word of this. I may 
 be a fool, but no matter, forward ! There is no time to lose." 
 
 " What sort of fearful fowl could come out of that game 
 bag?" asked Merle, kicking the fallen envelope. 
 
 " Tonnerre de Dieu ! They are making fools of us, that 
 is all." 
 
 Whenever this expression, explained above, escaped the 
 commandant, it always meant a storm of some sort. The 
 modulations of his voice when he uttered this phrase indicated 
 to the demi-brigade, like the degrees of a thermometer, the 
 amount of patience left in their chief; and the outspoken old 
 soldier made this knowledge so easy that the most mischiev- 
 ous drummer could take his measure, by remarking his shades 
 of manner in puckering up his cheek and winking. This 
 time the suppressed anger with which he brought out the 
 word silenced his friends and made them circumspect. The 
 pock-marks on his martial countenance seemed deeper and 
 darker than usual. As he put on his three-cornered hat, his 
 large plaited queue had slipped round upon one shoulder. 
 
 (67)
 
 68 THE CHOUANS. 
 
 Hulot pushed it back so violently that the little curls were 
 unsettled. However, as he remained motionless, with his 
 arms locked across his chest and his moustache a-bristle with 
 rage, G6rard ventured to ask 
 
 " Must we set out at once ? " 
 
 " Yes, if the cartridge-boxes are filled," he growled out. 
 
 "They are all full." 
 
 "Shoulder arms! left file! forward, march!" ordered 
 G6rard, at a sign from Hulot. 
 
 The drums headed the two companies chosen by Gerard. 
 The commandant, plunged in his own thoughts, seemed to 
 rouse himself at the sound, and went out of the town between 
 his two friends without a word to either. Now and again 
 Merle and Gerard looked at each other as if to say, "How 
 long is he going to be sulky with us?" and as they went they 
 furtively glanced at Hulot, who muttered chance words be- 
 tween his teeth. 
 
 Something very like an oath at times reached the soldiers' 
 ears, but neither dared to say a word, for on occasion all 
 could preserve the severe discipline to which Bonaparte had 
 accustomed his troops in Italy. Hulot and most of his men 
 represented all that was left of the famous battalions who 
 surrendered at Mayence, on condition that they should not 
 be employed upon the frontiers ; and the army had nick- 
 named them the Mayencais. It would have been difficult to 
 find officers and men who understood each other better. 
 
 The earliest hours of the next morning found Hulot and 
 his friends a league beyond Alencon on the Mortagne side, on 
 a road through the meadows beside the Sarthe. On the left 
 lies stretches of picturesque lowland ; while on the right the 
 dark woods, part of the great forest of Menil-Broust, form a 
 set-off, to borrow a word from the studio, to the lovely views 
 of the river. The clearings of the ditches on either hand, 
 which are constantly thrown up in a mound on their further 
 sides, form high banks, on the top of which furze bushes grow,
 
 A NOTION OF FOUCH&S. 69 
 
 ajoncs, as they call them in the west. These dense bushes 
 furnished excellent winter fodder for horses and cattle, but so 
 long as they remained uncut the dark-green clumps served 
 as hiding-places for Chouans. These banks and furze 
 bushes, signs which tell the traveler that he is nearing 
 Brittany, made this part of the journey in those days as dan- 
 gerous as it was beautiful. 
 
 The dangers involved by a journey from Mortagne to 
 Alencon, and from Alencon to Mayenne, had caused Hulot's 
 departure, and now the secret of his anger finally escaped him. 
 He was escorting an old mail-coach drawn by post-horses, 
 which the weariness of the soldiers compelled to move at a 
 foot pace. The companies of Blues, belonging to the garri- 
 son of Mortagne, were visible as black dots in the distance on 
 their way back thither ; they had accompanied this shocking 
 conveyance within their prescribed limits, and here Hulot 
 must succeed them in the service, a " patriotic bore," as the 
 soldiers not unjustly called it. One of the old Republican's 
 companies took up its position a little in front, and the other 
 a little behind the caleche ; and Hulot, who found himself 
 between Merle and Gerard, at an equal distance from the 
 vehicle and the vanguard, suddenly said 
 
 "Mille Tonnerres ! would you believe that the general has 
 drafted us out of Mayenne to escort a couple of petticoats in 
 this old fourgon ? " 
 
 " But not so long since, commandant," said Gerard, " when 
 we took up our position, you made your bow to the citoyennes 
 with a good enough grace." 
 
 " Ah ! that is the worst of it ! Don't these dandies in Paris 
 require us to pay the greatest attention to their damned 
 females ? How can they bring dishonor on good and brave 
 patriots like us, by setting us to dangle after a petticoat. I run 
 straight myself, and don't like crooked ways in others. When 
 I saw that Danton and Barras had mistresses, I used to say, 
 ' Citizens, when the Republic called on you to govern, it was not
 
 70 THE CHOUANS. 
 
 that you might play the same games as the old regime.'' You 
 will say now that women Oh, one must have women, that 
 is right enough. Brave men must have women, look you, 
 and good women too. But when things grow serious, prat- 
 tling ought to stop. Why did we sweep the old abuses away 
 if patriots are to begin them again ? Look at the First Consul 
 now, that is a man for you ; no women, always at work. I 
 would wager my left moustache he knows nothing of this 
 foolish business." 
 
 "Really, commandant," laughed Merle, " I have seen the 
 tip of the nose of the young lady there hidden on the back 
 seat, and I am sure that no one need be blamed for feeling, 
 as I do, a sort of hankering to take a turn round the coach 
 and have a scrap of conversation with the ladies." 
 
 "Look out, Merle!" said Gerard; "there's a citizen 
 along with the pretty birds quite sharp enough to catch you." 
 
 "Who? The incroyable,* whose little eyes keep dodging 
 about from one side of the road to the other, as if he saw 
 Chouans everywhere ? That dandy, whose legs you can 
 scarcely see, and whose head, as soon as his horses' legs are 
 hidden behind the carriage, sticks up like a duck's from a 
 pie ? If that nincompoop hinders me from stroking the 
 pretty white throat " 
 
 " Duck and white throat ! My poor Merle, thy fancy has 
 taken wings with a vengeance ! Don't be too sure of the 
 duck. His green eyes are as treacherous as a viper's, and as 
 shrewd as a woman's when she pardons her husband. I would 
 sooner trust a Chouan than one of these lawyers with a face 
 like a decanter of lemonade." 
 
 "Bah!" cried Merle gaily. "With the commandant's 
 leave I shall risk it. That girl has eyes that shine like stars ; 
 one might run all hazards for a sight of them." 
 
 " He is smitten !" said Gerard to the commandant ; "he 
 is raving already." 
 
 * Corresponding to our term " dude."
 
 A NOTION OF FOUCH&S. 71 
 
 Hulot made his grimace, shrugged his shoulder, and said 
 
 " I advise him to smell his soup before he takes it." 
 
 " Honest Merle, what spirits he has ! " said Gerard, judg- 
 ing by the slackening of the other's pace that he meant to 
 allow the coach to overtake him. " He is the only man that 
 can laugh when a comrade dies without being thought 
 heartless. ' ' 
 
 " He is a French soldier every inch of him," said Hulot 
 gravely. 
 
 " Only look at him, pulling his epaulettes over his shoulders, 
 to show that he is a captain," cried Gerard, laughing; "as 
 if his rank would do anything for him there." 
 
 There were, in fact, two women in the vehicle towards 
 which the officer turned ; one seemed to be the mistress, the 
 other her maid. 
 
 " That sort of woman always goes about in pairs," said 
 Hulot. 
 
 A thin, dried-up little man hovered sometimes before, 
 sometimes behind the carriage ; but though he seemed to 
 accompany the two privileged travelers, no one had yet seen 
 either of them speak a word to him. This silence, whether 
 respectful or contemptuous, the numerous trunks and boxes 
 belonging to the "princess," as he called her, everything, 
 down to the costume of her attendant cavalier, helped to stir 
 Hulot's bile. 
 
 The stranger's dress was an exact picture of the fashions of 
 the time of the incroyable* at an almost burlesque pitch. 
 Imagine a man muffled up in a coat with front so short that 
 five or six inches of waistcoat were left on view, and coat-tails 
 so long behind that they resembled the tail of the cod-fish, 
 after which they were named. A vast cravat wound round 
 his throat in such numerous folds, that his little head issuing 
 from the labyrinth of muslin almost justified Captain Merle's 
 gastronomical simile. The stranger wore tight-fitting breeches 
 * The " dude."
 
 72 THE CHOUANS. 
 
 and boots a la Suwarrow. A huge blue and white cameo 
 served as a shirt-pin, a gold watch-chain hung in two parallel 
 lines from his waist. His hair hung on either side of his face 
 in corkscrew ringlets, which almost covered his forehead ; 
 while, by way of final adornment, his shirt collar, like the 
 collar of his coat, rose to such a height that his head seemed 
 surrounded by it, like a bouquet in its cornet of paper. 
 
 Over and above the contrast of these insignificant details, 
 all at odds among themselves and out of harmony, imagine a 
 ludicrous strife of colors, yellow breeches, red waistcoat, and 
 cinnamon-brown coat, and you will form a correct notion of 
 the last decrees of elegance, as obeyed by dandies in the early 
 days of the consulate. This extravagantly absurd toilette 
 might have been devised as an ordeal for comeliness, or to 
 demonstrate that there is nothing so ridiculous but that fashion 
 can hallow it. The cavalier seemed to be about thirty years 
 of age, though in reality he was barely two-and-twenty. Hard 
 living, or the perils of the times, had perhaps brought this 
 about. In spite of his fantastic costume, there was a certain 
 grace of manner revealed in his movements, which singled 
 him out as a well-bred man. 
 
 As the captain reached the coach, the young exquisite 
 seemed to guess his intentions, and assisted them by checking 
 his own horse. Merle's satirical eyes fell upon an impenetrable 
 face, trained, like many another, by the vicissitudes of the 
 Revolution, to hide all feeling, even of the slightest. The 
 moment that the curved edge of a shabby cocked hat and a 
 captain's epaulettes came within the ladies' ken, a voice of 
 angelic sweetness asked him 
 
 "Would you kindly tell us where we are now, Monsieur 
 1'Officier?" 
 
 There is an indescribable charm in such a question by the 
 way, a whole adventure seems to lurk behind a single word ; 
 and, furthermore, if the lady, by reason of weakness or lack of 
 experience, asks for some protecting aid, does not every man
 
 A NOTION OF FOL CHE'S. 73 
 
 feel an inward prompting to weave fancies of an impossible 
 happiness for himself? So the polite formality of her ques- 
 tion, and her " Monsieur 1'Officier," vaguely perturbed the 
 captain's heart. He tried to distinguish the lady's face, and 
 was singularly disappointed ; a jealous veil hid her features, 
 he could scarcely see her eyes gleaming behind the gauze, 
 like two agates lit up by the sun. 
 
 "You are now within a league of Alencon, madame." 
 
 "Alencon, already! " and the stranger lady fell back in 
 the carriage without making any further reply. 
 
 "Alencon?" repeated the other woman, who seemed to 
 rouse herself. " You are going to revisit " 
 
 She looked at the captain and checked herself. Merle, 
 disappointed in his hope of a sight of the fair stranger, took a 
 look at her companion. She was a young woman of some 
 twenty-six years of age, fair-haired, well-shaped, with the 
 freshness of complexion and unfading brightness of color 
 which distinguishes the women of Valognes, Bayeux, and the 
 Alencon district. Sprightliness there was not in the expres- 
 sion of her blue eyes, but a certain steadfastness and tender- 
 ness. She wore a dress of some common material. Her way 
 of wearing her hair, modestly gathered up and fastened under 
 a little cap such as peasant women wear in the Pays-de-Caux, 
 made her face charming in its simplicity. There was nothing 
 of the conventional grace of the salons in her manner, but she 
 was not without the dignity natural to a young girl who could 
 contemplate the scenes of her past life without finding any 
 matter for repentance in them. 
 
 At a glance, Merle recognized in her one of those country 
 blossoms which have lost none of their pure coloring and 
 rustic freshness, although they have been transplanted into 
 the hothouses of Paris, where the withering glare of many 
 rays of light has been brought to bear upon them. Her quiet 
 looks and unaffected manner made it plain to Merle that she 
 did not wish for an audience. Indeed, when he fell away,
 
 74 THE CHOUANS. 
 
 the two women began a conversation in tones so low that the 
 murmur scarcely reached his ears. 
 
 "You set out in such haste," said the young country- 
 woman, " that you had barely time to dress. A pretty sight 
 you are ! If we are going any further than Alencon you will 
 really have to change your dress there " 
 
 " Oh, oh, Francine ! " said the other. 
 
 "What do you say?" 
 
 " This is the third time that you have tried to learn where 
 we are going, and why." 
 
 " Have I said anything whatever to deserve this reproof? " 
 
 " Oh, I have noticed your little ways. Simple and straight- 
 forward as you used to be, you have learned a little strategy 
 of my teaching. You begin to hold direct questions in ab- 
 horrence. Quite right, my child. Of all known methods 
 of getting at a secret, that one, is, in my opinion, the most 
 futile." 
 
 "Very well," said Francine," as one cannot hide anything 
 from you, admit at least, Marie, that your doings would make 
 a saint inquisitive. Yesterday morning you had nothing 
 whatever, to-day you have gold in plenty. At Mortagne they 
 assign the mail-coach to you which has just been robbed and 
 lost its driver ; you are given an escort by the government ; 
 and a man whom I regard as your evil genius is following 
 you." 
 
 "Who, Corentin?" asked her companion, throwing 
 
 emphasis into the two words by separate intonations of her 
 voice. There was a contempt in it that overflowed even into 
 the gesture by which she indicated the horseman. " Listen, 
 Francine," she went on, "do you remember Patriot, the 
 monkey that I taught to mimic Danton, and which amused us 
 so much?" 
 
 "Yes, mademoiselle." 
 
 " Were you afraid of him ? " 
 
 " But he was chained up."
 
 A NOTION OF POUCHES. 75 
 
 "And Corentin is muzzled, my child." 
 
 " We used to play with Patriot for hours together, I know," 
 said Francine, " but he always played us some ugly trick at 
 last." 
 
 And Francine flung herself suddenly back in the carriage, 
 and taking her mistress' hands, stroked them caressingly, as 
 she went on tenderly 
 
 "But you know what is in my thoughts, Marie, and yet 
 you say nothing to me. After the sorrows which have given 
 me so much pain (ah, how much pain !) how should twenty- 
 four hours put you into such spirits, wild as the moods when 
 you used to talk of taking your life? What has brought the 
 change about ? You owe me some account of yourself. You 
 belong to me rather than to any other whatever, for you will 
 never be better loved than by me. Tell me, mademoiselle !" 
 
 " Very well, Francine ; do you not see all about us the 
 cause of my high spirits? Look at those clumps of trees over 
 there, yellow and sere, no one like another. Seen from a 
 distance, might they not be a bit of old tapestry in some 
 chateau ? See these hedges behind which the Chouans might 
 be met with at any moment ; as I look at those tufts of gorse 
 I seem to see the barrels of muskets. I enjoy this succession 
 of perils about us. Every time that there is a deeper shadow 
 across the road, I think to hear the reports of firearms, and 
 my heart beats with an excitement I have never felt before. 
 It is neither fear nor pleasure that moves me so ; it is a better 
 thing ; it is the free play of all that stirs within me ; it is life. 
 Why should I not be glad to have revived my own existence 
 a little?" 
 
 "Ah! you are telling me nothing, hard heart! Holy 
 Virgin, to whom will she confess if not to me ? " said Francine, 
 sadly raising her eyes to heaven. 
 
 "Francine," her companion answered gravely. "I cannot 
 tell you about my enterprise. It is too horrible this time." 
 
 " But why do evil with your eyes open ? "
 
 76 THE CHOUANS. 
 
 " What would you have ? I detect myself thinking like a 
 woman of fifty and acting like a girl of fifteen. You have 
 always been my better self, my poor girl, but this time I must 
 
 stifle my conscience " she paused as a sigh escaped her, 
 
 "and I shall not succeed. But how can I keep such a strict 
 confessor beside me?" and she softly tapped the other's 
 hand. 
 
 " Ah ! when have I reproached you with anything? " cried 
 Francine. " Evil in you has so much grace with it. Yes, 
 Saint Anne of Auray, to whom I pray so often for you, will 
 absolve you. And for the rest, am I not come beside you 
 now, though I do not know where your way is taking you?" 
 
 She kissed her mistress' hands with this outburst. 
 
 " But you can leave me," said Marie, " if your conscience 
 
 "Not another word, madame," said Francine with a little 
 sorrowful twitch of the lips. " Oh, will you not tell me ' 
 
 " Nothing ! " said the young lady firmly. " Only, be sure 
 of this, that the enterprise is even more odious to me than 
 the smooth-tongued creature who explained its nature. I 
 wish to be candid ; so to you I confess that I would not have 
 lent myself to their wishes if I had not seen, in this ignoble 
 farce, some gleams of mingled love and terror which attracted 
 me. Then I would not leave this vile world without an effort 
 to gather the flowers I look for from it, even if I must die for 
 them ! But, remember, for it is due to my memory, that had 
 my life been happy, that great knife of theirs held above my 
 head would never have forced me to take a part in this tragedy, 
 for tragedy it is." A gesture of disgust escaped her; then 
 she went on, "But now, if the piece were to be withdrawn, I 
 should throw myself into the Sarthe, and that would be in no 
 sense a suicide, for as yet I have not lived." 
 
 " Oh, holy Virgin of Auray, forgive her ! " 
 
 " What are you afraid of? The dreary ups and downs of 
 domestic life arouse no emotions in me, as you know. This
 
 A NOTION OF FOUCHE'S. 77 
 
 is ill in a woman, but my soul has loftier capacities, in order 
 to abide mightier trials. I should have been, perhaps, a 
 gentle creature like you. Why am I so much above or below 
 other women ? Ah, how happy is the wife of General Bona- 
 parte ! But I shall die young, for even now I have come not 
 to shrink from that kind of pleasure which means ' drinking 
 blood,' as poor Danton used to say. Now forget all this that 
 the woman of fifty within me says. The girl of fifteen will 
 soon reappear, thank heaven ! " 
 
 The younger woman shuddered. She alone understood the 
 fiery and impetuous nature of her mistress ; she only had been 
 initiated into the mysteries of an inner life full of lofty imag- 
 inings, the ideas of a soul for whom life had hitherto seemed 
 intangible as a shadow which she longed to grasp. There 
 had been no harvest after all her sowings ; her nature had 
 never been touched ; she was harassed by futile longings, 
 wearied by a struggle without an opponent, so that in 
 despair she had come to prefer good to evil if it came as 
 an enjoyment, and evil to good if only an element of poetry 
 lurked behind, to prefer wretchedness as something grander 
 than a life of narrow comfort, and death, with its dark un- 
 certainties, to an existence of starved hopes or insignificant 
 sufferings. Never has so much powder awaited the spark, 
 such wealth lain in store for love to consume, so much gold 
 been mingled with the clay in a daughter of Eve. Over 
 this nature Francine watched like an angel on earth, wor- 
 shipping its perfection, feeling that she should fulfil her 
 mission if she preserved for the choir above, this seraph, 
 kept afar as an expiation of the sin of pride. 
 
 "That is the steeple of Alenson," said their cavalier, as 
 he drew near to the coach. 
 
 " So I see," said the lady drily. 
 
 "Very well ! " he said, and fell back again with all tokens 
 of abject submission, in spite of his disappointment. 
 
 " Quicker! " cried the lady to the postilion. "There is
 
 78 THE CHOUANS. 
 
 nothing to fear now ! Go on at a trot or a gallop if you 
 can. We are on the causeway of Alengon, are we not ? " 
 
 As she passed him she called graciously to Hulot 
 
 " We shall meet each other at the inn, commandant. Come 
 and see me. ' ' 
 
 " Just so," he replied ; " I am going to the inn, come and 
 see me ! That is the way to speak to the commandant of a 
 demi-brigade." 
 
 He jerked his fist in the direction of the vanishing coach. 
 
 "Don't grumble, commandant," said Corentin, laughing; 
 "she has your general's commission in her sleeve," and he 
 tried to put his horse to a gallop, to overtake the coach. 
 
 " Those good folk shall not make a fool of me," growled 
 Hulot to his two friends. " I would sooner fling my general's 
 uniform into a ditch than get it through a woman's favor. 
 What do the geese mean ? Do you understand their drift, 
 either of you? " 
 
 " Quite well," said Merle ; " I know, that she is the hand- 
 somest woman I ever set eyes on ! You don't understand 
 figures of speech, I think. Perhaps it is the First Consul's 
 wife." 
 
 "Stuff, his wife is not young, and this one is," answered 
 Hulot. "Besides, the orders I have received from the minis- 
 ter inform me that she is Mile, de Verneuil. She is a 
 ci-devant. Don't I know that ! They used to carry on like 
 this before the Revolution ; you could be a chief of demi- 
 brigade in a brace of shakes. You had only to say to them 
 'My dear! ' once or twice, with the proper emphasis." 
 
 As each soldier "stepped out." to use their commandant's 
 phrase, the wretched vehicle which then served for a mail- 
 coach had quickly reached the sign of the Three Moors in the 
 middle of the principal street of Alencon. The rattle of the 
 crazy conveyance brought the landlord to the threshold. 
 Nobody in Alencon had expected that chance would bring the 
 coach to the sign of the Three Moors ; but the horrible event
 
 A NOTION OF FOUCH&S. 79 
 
 at Mortagne brought out so many people to look at it, that 
 its occupants, to escape the general curiosity, fled into the 
 kitchen, the ante-chamber of every inn throughout the west. 
 The host was preparing to follow them after a look at the 
 coach, when the postilion caught his arm. 
 
 " Look here, citizen Brutus," he said ; " there is an escort 
 of Blues on the way. As there was neither driver nor dis- 
 patches, it was my doing that the citoyennes came to you. 
 Of course, they will pay like ci-devant princesses ; and so " 
 
 " And so, we shall have a glass of wine together directly, 
 my boy," said the landlord. 
 
 Mile, de Verneuil gave one glance round the smoke-black- 
 ened kitchen, and at the stains of raw meat on the table, and 
 then fled like a bird into the next room. For the appearance 
 and odor of the place dismayed her quite as much as the 
 inquisitive looks which a slovenly cook and a short, stout 
 woman fastened upon her. 
 
 " How are we going to manage, wife ? " said the landlord. 
 "Who the devil would think so many people would come 
 here as times go now ? She will never have the patience to 
 wait till I can serve her up a suitable meal. My word, I have 
 hit upon it ; they belong to the quality, why shouldn't they 
 breakfast with the lady upstairs, eh? " 
 
 When the host looked about for the newcomers, he found 
 only Francine, whom he drew to the side of the kitchen 
 nearest the yard, so that no one could overhear him, and 
 said 
 
 "If the ladies wish to breakfast by themselves, as I expect 
 they do, I have a very nice meal now ready for a lady and 
 her son. They would not object, of course, to breakfasting 
 with you," he went on mysteriously. " They are people of 
 quality." 
 
 The words were hardly out before the landlord felt a light 
 blow on the back from a whip-handle ; he turned quickly and 
 saw behind him a short, thick-set man, who had come in noise-
 
 80 THE CHOUANS. 
 
 lessly from a closet adjoining. The stout woman, the cook, 
 and his assistant seemed frozen with terror by this apparition. 
 The landlord turned his head away aghast. The short man 
 shook aside the hair that covered his eyes and forehead and 
 stood on tiptoe to whisper in the landlord's ear 
 
 " You know what any blabbing or imprudence lays you 
 open to, and the color of the money we pay in. We never 
 grudge it " A gesture rendered his meaning horribly clear. 
 
 The stout person of the landlord hid the speaker, but Fran- 
 cine caught a word here and there of his muttered talk, and 
 stood as if thunderstruck as she listened to the hoarse sounds 
 of a Breton voice. Amid the general dismay she sprang 
 towards the speaker, but he had darted through a side door into 
 the yard with the quickness of a wild animal. Francine 
 thought that she must be mistaken, for she could only see what 
 appeared to be the brindled fell of a fair-sized bear. 
 
 She ran to the window in surprise, and gazed after the figure 
 through the grimy panes. He was slouching off to the stable ; 
 but before he entered, he bent two piercing black eyes upon 
 the first story of the inn, and then turned them on the coach, 
 as if he wished to call the attention of some one within to 
 some point of special interest about it. 
 
 Thanks to this manoeuvre, which displayed his face, Fran- 
 cine recognized the Chouan as Marche-a-Terre, despite his 
 goatskin cloak, by his heavy whip, and the lagging gait, which 
 he could quicken upon occasion. She watched him still even 
 through the dimness of the stable, where he lay down in a 
 heap among the straw, in a spot whence he could see all that 
 went on in the inn. Even at close quarters an experienced 
 spy might have taken him for a big carter's dog curled round, 
 asleep, with his muzzle between his paws. His conduct con- 
 vinced Francine that he had not recognized her. In her mis- 
 tress' difficult position she hardly knew whether this was a 
 relief or an annoyance. But her curiosity was whetted by the 
 mysterious connection between the Chouan's threat and the
 
 A NOTION OF FOUCH&S. 81 
 
 landlord's proposal, for an innkeeper is always ready to stop 
 two mouths with one morsel. 
 
 She left the dingy window, whence she had seen Marche-a- 
 Terre as a shapeless heap in the darkness, and turned to the 
 landlord, who stood like a man who has made a false step and 
 cannot see how to retrieve it. The Chouan's gesture had 
 petrified the poor fellow. Every one in the west knew how 
 the Chasseurs du Roi visited even a suspicion of indiscretion 
 with cruel refinements of torture. The landlord seemed to 
 feel their knives at his throat. The chef stared in terror 
 at the hearth, where too often they "warmed the feet" 
 of their victims. The stout woman ceased to pare a potato, 
 and gazed stupidly at her husband, while the scullion tried to 
 guess the meaning of this mute terror. Francine's curiosity 
 was naturally roused by all this dumb-show, with the principal 
 performer absent though still visible. The Chouan's terrible 
 power pleased her ; and although it hardly lay in her meek 
 nature to play the Abigail, for once she was too deeply inter- 
 ested not to use her opportunities for penetrating this mystery. 
 
 "Very good, mademoiselle accepts your offer," she said 
 gravely. At her words the landlord started as if from sleep. 
 
 "What offer?" he asked in real surprise. 
 
 " What offer? " asked Corentin as he came in. 
 
 " What offer? " asked Mile, de Verneuil. 
 
 " What offer? " asked a fourth person from the foot of the 
 staircase, as he sprang into the kitchen. 
 
 "Why, to breakfast with your people of distinction," an- 
 swered Francine impatiently. 
 
 "People of distinction," said the arrival from the staircase, 
 in caustic and mocking tones ; " this is one of your landlord's 
 jokes, and a very poor one ; but if it is this young citoyenne 
 whom you wish to add to our party," he added, looking at 
 Mile, de Verneuil, "it would be folly to decline, my good 
 fellow. In my mother's absence I accept," and he clapped 
 the bewildered landlord on the shoulder. 
 6
 
 82 THE CHOUANS. 
 
 The careless grace of youth concealed the insolent pride of 
 his words, which naturally drew the attention of those present 
 to the new actor in the scene. The host put on the face of 
 Pilate at this, washing his hands of the death of Christ ; he 
 stepped back and whispered to his plump wife 
 
 "You are my witness, that if anything goes wrong, I am 
 not to blame. But at all events," he added in still lower 
 tones, "let M. Marche-a-Terre know everything." 
 
 The newcomer was of middle height, and wore the uniform 
 of the " Ecole polytechnique," a blue coat without epaulettes, 
 breeches of the same material, and black gaiters that reached 
 above the knee. In spite of this sombre costume, Mademoi- 
 selle de Verneuil recognized at a glance the grace of his figure 
 and an indescribable something which indicated noble birth. 
 At first sight there was nothing remarkable in his face, but 
 something in his features soon made it felt that he was capable 
 of great things. A sun-burned face, fair and curling hair, 
 brilliant blue eyes, and a delicately cut nose, all these traits, 
 like the ease of his movements, revealed a life subordinated to 
 lofty sentiments and a mind accustomed to command. The 
 feature that most clearly revealed his character was a chin 
 like Bonaparte's, or a mouth where the lower lip met the 
 upper in a curve like that of some acanthus leaf on a Corin- 
 thian capital; there nature had exerted all her powers of 
 magic. 
 
 " This young man is no ordinary Republican," said Mile. 
 de Verneuil to herself. 
 
 She understood everything in a moment, and the wish to 
 please awoke in her. She bent her head a little to one side 
 with a coquettish smile, and the dark eyes shot forth one of 
 those velvet glances that would awaken life in a heart dead to 
 love ; then the heavy eyelids fell over her black eyes, and 
 their thick lashes made a curved line of shadow on her cheeks 
 as she said, " We are very much obliged to you, sir," impart- 
 ing a thrill to the conventional phrase by the most musical
 
 A NOTION OF FOUCHE'S. 83 
 
 tones her voice could give. All this by-play took place in 
 less time than it takes to describe it, and at once Mile, de 
 Verneuil turned to the landlord, asked for her room, found 
 the staircase, and disappeared with Francine, leaving the 
 stranger to decide whether or no she had accepted his invita- 
 tion. 
 
 " Who is the woman ? " asked the pupil of the Ecole poly- 
 technique of the still further embarrassed and motionless 
 landlord. 
 
 " She is the citoyenne Verneuil," answered Corentin tartly, 
 as he ran his eyes over the other jealously. "What makes 
 you ask ? ' ' 
 
 The stranger hummed a Republican air, and raised his head 
 haughtily at Corentin. The two young men looked at one 
 another for a moment like game-cocks about to fight, and at a 
 glance an undying hatred of each other dawned in them both. 
 For the frank gaze of the soldier's blue eyes there shone 
 malice and deceit in Corentin's green orbs. The one naturally 
 possessed a gracious manner, the other could only substitute 
 insinuating dexterity of address ; the first would have rushed 
 forward where the other slunk back. The one commanded 
 the respect that the other sought to obtain ; the first seemed 
 to say, "Let us conquer! " the second, "Let us divide the 
 spoil ! " 
 
 " Is the citizen du Gua St.-Cyr here? " asked a peasant at 
 the door. 
 
 "What do you want with him?" asked the young man, 
 coming forward. 
 
 The peasant made a deep reverence and handed him a letter, 
 which the young man read and threw into the fire. He nod- 
 ded by way of answer, and the peasant went away. 
 
 "You have come from Paris, no doubt, citizen!" said 
 Corentin, coming up to him with a familiar and cringing 
 complaisance that the citizen du Gua could hardly endure. 
 
 "Yes," he replied drily.
 
 84 THE CHOUANS. 
 
 " Some appointment in the artillery, I expect ? " 
 
 " No, citizen, in the navy." 
 
 "Ah! then you are going to Brest," said Corentin care- 
 lessly, but the young sailor turned away quickly on his heel 
 without replying. 
 
 He soon disappointed the fair expectations that Mile, de 
 Verneuil had formed of him. A puerile interest in his break- 
 fast absorbed him. He discussed recipes with the chef and 
 the landlady, opened his eyes at provincial ways like a fledg- 
 ling Parisian picked out of his enchanted shell, affected 
 repugnances, and altogether showed a weakness of mind that 
 one would not have expected from his appearance. Corentin 
 smiled pityingly as he turned up his nose at the best cider in 
 Normandy. 
 
 " Faugh ! " he cried, "how do you manage to swallow that 
 stuff? One could eat and drink it too. No wonder the 
 Republic suspects a district where they bang the trees with 
 long poles for their vintage, and lie in wait to shoot travelers 
 on the roads. Don't put that physic on the table for us, but 
 give us some good Bordeaux wine, both white and red, and 
 see, above all things, that there is a good fire upstairs. Civili- 
 zation is a long way behind hereabouts, it seems to me. 
 Ah ! " he sighed, " there is but one Paris in the world, and it 
 is a pity indeed that one cannot take it afloat with one. 
 Hullo, spoil-sauce," he cried to the cook, " do you mean to 
 say you are putting vinegar into the fricassee when there are 
 lemons at hand ? And your sheets, madame landlady, were 
 so coarse that I scarcely slept a wink all night." 
 
 He then betook himself to playing with a large cane, 
 performing with childish gravity a number of evolutions, 
 which decided the place of a youth among incroyabU&bj 
 the degree of skill and neatness with which they were 
 executed. 
 
 " And out of whipper-snappers like that the Republic hopes 
 * Dudes.
 
 A NOTION OF FOUCHfrS. 85 
 
 to construct a navy," said Corentin confidentially, as he 
 scanned the landlord's face. 
 
 " That man is one of Fouche's spies," whispered the sailor 
 to the landlady. " I see it in every line of his face. I would 
 swear that he brought that splash of mud on his chin from 
 Paris. But set a thief to catch " 
 
 A lady entered the kitchen as he spoke, whom he greeted 
 with every outward sign of respect. 
 
 "Come here, chere ntaman," he cried; "I think I have 
 found some one to share our meal." 
 
 "To share our meal ! What nonsense ! " she replied. 
 
 " It is Mile, de Verneuil," he said, lowering his voice. 
 
 "She perished on the scaffold after the Savenay affair; she 
 had come to Mans to save her brother, the Prince de Loudon," 
 said his mother shortly. 
 
 "You are mistaken, madame," said Corentin amiably, 
 and with a little pause on the word madame. " There is 
 a second Mademoiselle de Verneuil. Great families have 
 always several branches." 
 
 Surprised at his freedom, the lady drew back a pace or 
 two, as if to scrutinize this unlooked-for speaker. She bent 
 her dark eyes upon him as if she would divine, with a 
 woman's keen power of apprehension, why he affirmed Mile. 
 de Verneuil to be yet in existence. Corentin, who at the 
 same time furtively studied the lady, refused her the pleasures 
 of maternity to endow her with those of love. 
 
 He gallantly declined to believe her to be the happy 
 mother of a son twenty years of age, seeing her dazzling 
 complexion, her thick arching eyebrows, her still abundant 
 eyelashes, which excited his admiration, and her wealth of 
 black tresses, divided on the forehead into two bandeaux, 
 a style which enhanced the youthfulness of a sprightly face. 
 It was the force of passion, he thought, and by no means 
 time, that had set faint lines on her forehead ; and if the 
 piercing eyes drooped somewhat, this might be due rather
 
 86 THE CHOUANS. 
 
 to the constant expression of lively feelings than to the 
 weariness of her pilgrimage. Corentin then discovered that 
 the cloak she wore was of English materials, and that her 
 bonnet followed some foreign fashion, and was not in the 
 mode, called a la Grecque, which ruled Parisian toilettes. 
 
 Corentin's nature always led him to suspect evil rather than 
 good, and he began at once to have his doubts as to the 
 patriotism of the pair ; while the lady, who had as rapidly 
 come to her own conclusions about Corentin, looked at her 
 son, as if to say, " Who is this quiz? Is he on our side? " 
 To this implied question, the young man's manner replied, 
 like his look and gesture, " I know nothing about him, upon 
 my word, and you cannot suspect him as much as I do." 
 Then, leaving it to his mother to discover the mystery, he 
 went up and whispered to the hostess 
 
 " Try to find out who the rogue is, and whether he really 
 does accompany that young lady, and why." 
 
 " So you are sure, citizen," said Mme. du Gua, looking at 
 Corentin," that Mile, de Verneuil is still living?" 
 
 " She exists as surely in flesh and blood, madame, as the 
 citizen du Gua Saint-Cyr." 
 
 There was a profound irony beneath his words, known only 
 to the lady herself; any other woman would have been dis- 
 concerted. Her son suddenly fixed his eyes on Corentin, 
 who coolly drew out his watch, and did not seem to suspect 
 the apprehensions his reply had aroused. But the lady, 
 uneasy and anxious to know at once whether treachery lurked 
 in the words, or chance had directed them, said to Corentin 
 quite simply 
 
 " Man Dieu ! How unsafe the roads are ! The Chouans 
 set upon us on the other side of Mortagne. My son narrowly 
 escaped being left there for good ; he had two balls through 
 his hat while defending me." 
 
 " Then, madame, you were in the coach that was plundered 
 by the brigands, in spite of its escort, and which has just
 
 A NOTION OF FOUCH&S. 87 
 
 brought us hither. You will recognize it, I expect. They 
 said as I came through Mortagne that Chouans to the number 
 of two thousand had attacked the mail, and that every one, 
 even the travelers, had perished. That is how history is 
 written." 
 
 The fatuous air with which Corentin spoke, and his drawling 
 tones, recalled some habitue of "La Petite Provence," who 
 has discovered to his sorrow that a piece of political news 
 is false. 
 
 " Alas, madame," he went on, "if travelers are murdered 
 at such a short distance from Paris, what will be the state of 
 affairs in Brittany ! Faith, I shall go back to Paris and not 
 venture any further." 
 
 "Is Mademoiselle de Verneuil young and beautiful?" 
 asked the lady of their hostess, as a sudden thought crossed 
 her mind. 
 
 Just then the landlord ended the conversation, which had 
 so painful an interest for the three speakers, by the announce- 
 ment that breakfast was ready. The young sailor offered his 
 arm to his mother with an assumed familiarity which con- 
 firmed Corentin's doubts. 
 
 He called out as he reached the staircase 
 
 " Citizen, if you are traveling with the citoyenne Verneuil, 
 
 and she accepts our landlord's offer, do not hesitate." And 
 
 though these words were careless, and his manner by no means 
 
 pressing, Corentin went upstairs. As soon as they were some 
 
 seven or eight steps ahead of the Parisian, the young man 
 
 pressed the lady's hand affectionately, and said in a low voice 
 
 "See now the inglorious hazards to which your plans have 
 
 exposed us. If we are detected, how are we to escape ? And 
 
 what a part you have made me play ! " 
 
 The three entered a large-sized room. Even those unac- 
 customed to travel in the west would have seen that the 
 landlord had expended all his resources in a lavish preparation 
 for his guests. The table was carefully appointed, the damp-
 
 83 THE CHOUANS. 
 
 ness of the room had been driven off by a large fire, the 
 earthenware, linen, and furniture were not intolerably dirty. 
 Corentin saw that the landlord had put himself about a good 
 deal, as the popular saying is, to please the strangers. 
 
 "So," he thought, "these people are not what they wish 
 to appear then. The little youngster is adroit. I took him 
 for a simpleton, but I fancy he is quite as sharp as I am 
 myself." 
 
 The landlord went to inform Mile, de Verneuil that the 
 young sailor, his mother, and Corentin awaited her coming. 
 
 As she did not appear, the student of the Ecole polytech- 
 nique felt sure that she had raised difficulties, and humming, 
 " Veillons au salut de 1'Empire," he went off in the direction 
 of her room. A curiously keen desire possessed him to over- 
 come her scruples and bring her back with him. Perhaps he 
 meant to solve the doubts which disturbed him, or to try to 
 exert over this stranger the authority men like to exercise in 
 the case of a pretty woman. 
 
 "May I be hanged if that is a Republican," thought 
 Corentin, as he went out. " The movements of those shoul- 
 ders show the courtier And if that is his mother," he 
 
 continued, as he looked again at Mme. du Gua, " I am the 
 Pope ! I believe they are Chouans ; let us make certain of 
 their condition." 
 
 The door soon opened, and the young sailor appeared, 
 leading by the hand Mile, de Verneuil, whom he led to her 
 place with presumptuous civility. The devil had lost nothing 
 during the hour which had just passed. With Francine's aid, 
 Mile, de Verneuil had equipped herself in a traveling dress 
 more formidable perhaps than a ball toilette ; for a woman 
 beautiful enough to discard ornaments knows how to relegate 
 the charms of her toilette to a second place, and to avail her- 
 self of the attractions of a simplicity that proceeds from art. 
 She wore a green dress, charmingly made, and a short jacket or 
 spencer fastened with loops of twisted braid, a costume which
 
 A NOTION OF POUCHES. 89 
 
 fitted the outlines of her form with a subtlety scarcely girlish, 
 and displayed her slender figure and graceful movements. 
 She came in smiling, with the amiability natural to a woman 
 who can disclose a set of even teeth, white as porcelain, 
 between two red lips, and a couple of fresh childish dimples 
 in her cheeks. She had discarded the bonnet, which at first 
 had almost hidden her face from the young sailor, and could 
 employ the numerous apparently unconscious little devices by 
 which a woman displays or enhances the charms of her face 
 and the graces of her head. A certain harmony between her 
 manners and her toilette made her seem so youthful that 
 Madame du Gua thought herself liberal in allowing her some 
 twenty years of age. 
 
 The coquetry of this change of costume, which showed a 
 deliberate effort to please, might have aroused hope in the 
 young man, but Mile, de Verneuil bowed slightly without 
 looking at him, and left him to himself with a careless cheer- 
 fulness that disconcerted him. Her reserve seemed to unac- 
 customed eyes to indicate neither coquetry nor prudence, 
 but simple indifference, real or affected. The ingenuous 
 expression which she knew how to assume was inscrutable. 
 There was not a trace in her manner of the anticipation of a 
 conquest ; the pretty ways which had already flattered and 
 deceived the young man's self-love seemed native to her. So 
 the stranger took his place somewhat put out. 
 
 Mile, de Verneuil took Francine's hand and addressed 
 Mme. du Gua in conciliatory tones 
 
 "Madame, will you be so good as to allow this girl to 
 breakfast with us ? She is rather a friend than a servant, and 
 in these stormy times devotion can only be repaid by friend- 
 ship; indeed, what else is there left to us?" To this last 
 observation, made in a lowered voice, Mme. du Gua replied 
 by a somewhat stiff and mutilated courtesy that revealed her 
 annoyance at coming in contact with so pretty a woman. She 
 stooped to whisper in her son's ear
 
 90 THE CHOUANS. 
 
 "Oh! 'stormy times,' 'devotion,' 'madame,' and 'the wait- 
 ing woman ; ' this is not Mile, de Verneuil, but some creature 
 sent by FoucheV' 
 
 Mile, de Verneuil became aware of Corentin's presence as 
 they seated themselves ; he still submitted the strangers to a 
 narrow inspection, under which they seemed rather uneasy. 
 
 "Citizen," she said, "I am sure that you are too well bred 
 to wish to follow me about in this way. The Republic sent my 
 relations to the scaffold, but had not the magnanimity to find 
 a guardian for me. So, though against my wish, you have 
 accompanied me so far with a Quixotic courtesy quite unheard 
 of," and she sighed, "I am determined not to permit the 
 protecting care you have expended upon me to become a 
 source of annoyance to you. I am in safety here and you can 
 leave me." 
 
 She looked at him resolutely and scornfully. Corentin 
 understood her, suppressed a lurking smile about the corners 
 of his crafty month, and bowed respectfully. 
 
 "Citoyenne," said he, "it is always an honor to obey 
 your commands. Beauty is the only queen whom a true 
 Republican can willingly serve." 
 
 Mile, de Verneuil smiled so significantly and joyously at 
 Francine as he went, that Madame du Gua's suspicions were 
 somewhat allayed, albeit prudence had come along with 
 jealousy of Mile, de Verneuil's perfect loveliness. 
 
 " Perhaps she is Mile, de Verneuil after all," she said to her 
 son. 
 
 " How about the escort?" he answered, for vexation had 
 made him discreet in his turn. "Is he her gaoler or her 
 protector? Is she a friend or an enemy of the government ? " 
 
 Madame du Gua's eyes seemed to say that she meant to go 
 to the bottom of this mystery. Corentin's departure appeared 
 to reassure the young sailor, his face relaxed, but the way in 
 which he looked at Mile, de Verneuil revealed rather an 
 immoderate love of woman in general than the dawning
 
 A NOTION OF FOUCH&S. 91 
 
 warmth of a respectful passion. On the other hand, the 
 young lady grew more and more reserved, keeping all her 
 friendly words for Madame du Gua, until the young man grew 
 sulky at being left to himself, and in his vexation assumed 
 airs of indifference. It was all lost, it seemed, upon Mile, de 
 Verneuil, who appeared to be unaffected, but not shy, and 
 reserved without prudishness. After all, this casual meeting 
 of people who were unlikely to know more of each other 
 called for no especial emotion ; but a certain constraint or 
 even a vulgar embarrassment began to spoil any pleasure which 
 Mile, de Verneuil and the young sailor had expected from it 
 but a moment before. But women have among themselves 
 such strong interests in common, or such a keen desire for emo- 
 tions, combined with so wonderful an instinct for finding the 
 right thing to say and do, that they can always break the ice 
 on such occasions. So that, as if one thought possessed both 
 ladies, they began to rally their cavalier, rivaled each other 
 in paying him various small attentions, and joked at his ex- 
 pense. This unanimity of plan set them free from constraint. 
 Words and looks began to lose their significance and import- 
 ance. At the end of half an hour, in fact, the two women, 
 already enemies at heart, were outwardly on the best of terms, 
 while the young sailor found that he preferred Mademoiselle de 
 Verneuil's reserve to her present vivacity. He was so tormented 
 that he angrily wished he had not asked her to join them. 
 
 "Madame," said Mademoiselle de Verneuil at last, "is 
 your son always as dull as this ? " 
 
 "Mademoiselle," broke in the victim, "I was just asking 
 myself what is the good of a pleasure that cannot last. The 
 keenness of my enjoyment is the secret of my dulness." 
 
 "Pretty speeches like that are rather courtly for the Ecole 
 polytechnique," she said, laughing. 
 
 " His idea was very natural, mademoiselle," said Madame 
 du Gua, who for her own reasons wished to set her guest 
 at ease.
 
 92 THE CHOUANS. 
 
 " Come, why do you not laugh ? " said the latter, smiling. 
 " How do you look when you weep, if what you are pleased 
 to call 'a pleasure' depresses you like this?" continued 
 Mile, de Verneuil. 
 
 Her smile, accompanied by a challenge from her eyes 
 which broke through the mask of sedateness, gave some hope 
 to the young sailor. But inspired by her nature, which always 
 leads a woman to do too much or too little, the more Mile, de 
 Verneuil seemed to take possession of the young sailor by 
 glances full of the foreshadowing of love, the more she 
 opposed a cool and reserved severity to his gallant expressions 
 the common tactics which women use to conceal their 
 sentiments. For one moment, and one only, when each had 
 thought to find the other's eyelids lowered, a glance com- 
 municated their real thoughts; but they both lowered their 
 eyes as promptly as they had raised them, confounded by the 
 sudden flash that had agitated both their hearts while it en- 
 lightened them. In embarrassment at having said so much 
 in a glance, they did not dare to look at each other again. 
 Mile, de Verneuil, anxious to undeceive the stranger, took 
 refuge in a cool politeness, and even seemed to be impatient 
 for their breakfast to be over. 
 
 " You must have suffered much in prison, mademoiselle? " 
 queried Mme. du Gua. 
 
 " Alas ! madame, I feel as though I had not yet ceased to 
 be a prisoner." 
 
 "Is your escort intended to watch you or to watch over 
 you, mademoiselle ? Are you suspected by the Republic, or 
 are you dear to it ?" 
 
 Mile, de Verneuil felt instinctively that Mme. du Gua took 
 but little interest in her, and the question startled her. 
 
 " Madame," she replied, " I hardly know what my precise 
 relations with the Republic are at this moment." 
 
 "You make it tremble, perhaps," said the young man, 
 somewhat ironically.
 
 A NOTION OF FOUCHfrS. 93 
 
 " Why do you not respect mademoiselle's secrets? " asked 
 Mme. du Gua. 
 
 " The secrets of a young girl who has known nothing of 
 life as yet but its sorrows are not very interesting, madame." 
 
 "But the First Consul seems to be exceedingly well dis- 
 posed," said Mme. du Gua, desiring to keep up a conversa- 
 tion which might tell her something that she wanted to know. 
 " Do they not say that he is about to repeal the law against 
 emigrants?" 
 
 "It is quite true, madame," said the other, almost too 
 eagerly perhaps. " Why, then, should we arouse La Vendee 
 and Brittany? Why kindle the flames of insurrection in 
 France?" 
 
 This generous outburst, in which she seemed to put a 
 note of self-reproach, moved the young sailor. He looked 
 attentively at Mile, de Verneuil, but he could read neither 
 hatred nor love in her face. Her face, with its delicate 
 tints that attested the fineness of the skin, was impenetra- 
 ble. Ungovernable curiosity suddenly attracted him towards 
 this singular being, to whom he had already felt drawn by 
 strong desire. 
 
 "But you are going to Mayenne, madame?" she asked 
 after a short pause. 
 
 "And if so, mademoiselle?" queried the young man. 
 
 " Well, if so, madame, and as your son is in the service of 
 the Republic " 
 
 These words were uttered with seeming carelessness, but 
 she gave a furtive glance at the two strangers, such as only 
 women and diplomatists employ, as she continued, "You 
 must be in fear of the Chouans ? An escort is not to be de- 
 spised. We are almost traveling companions already. Will 
 you come with us to Mayenne? " 
 
 Mother and son looked at each other, and the latter spoke. 
 
 " I hardly know, mademoiselle, whether I do very dis- 
 creetly in telling you that matters of great importance require
 
 94 THE CHOUANS. 
 
 us to be in the district of Fougeres to-night, and so far we 
 have found no means of transport ; but women are so generous 
 by nature that I should be ashamed not to trust you. But still," 
 he continued, " before we put ourselves in your hands, let us 
 know at any rate if we are likely to issue from them safe and 
 sound. Are you the slave or the mistress of your Repub- 
 lican escort ? Forgive the plain speaking of a young sailor, 
 but I see so much that is unusual in your circumstances 
 
 " In these times, sir, nothing that happens is usual. Be- 
 lieve me, you may accept without hesitation. Above all," 
 she spoke with emphasis, " you have no treachery to fear in a 
 straightforward offer made by one who takes no share in party 
 hatreds." 
 
 " Even then the journey will have its perils," he answered, 
 with an arch look that gave significance to the commonplace 
 words. 
 
 " What are you afraid of now? " she asked, with a mocking 
 smile ; " there is no danger that I see, for anybody." 
 
 "Is this the woman whose glances reflected my desires," 
 said he to himself. " What a tone to take ! Does she mean 
 to entrap me?" 
 
 The shrill piercing cry of a screech-owl rang oqt like a 
 dismal portent ; it seemed to come from the chimney. 
 
 " What is that?" asked Mademoiselle de Verneuil, with a 
 gesture of surprise. "It is a bad omen for our journey. 
 And how is it that screech-owls hoot in broad daylight here- 
 abouts?" 
 
 " They do at times," said the young man shortly. " Made- 
 moiselle, perhaps we shall bring you ill-luck. Is not that what 
 you are thinking? We had better not travel together." 
 
 This was said with a soberness and gravity that aston- 
 ished her. 
 
 "I have no wish to constrain you, sir," she said with aris- 
 tocratic impertinence. " Pray let us keep what little liberty
 
 A NOTION OF FOUCH&S. 95 
 
 the Republic allows us. If your mother were alone, I should 
 insist " 
 
 The heavy footsteps of a soldier sounded from the corridor, 
 and Hulot showed a scowling face. 
 
 "Come here, colonel," said Mile, de Verneuil, smiling 
 and pointing to a chair beside her. " Let us occupy ourselves 
 with affairs of State if we must. But do not look so serious 1 
 What is the matter with you? Are there Chouans about ?" 
 
 The commandant was staring open-mouthed at the stranger, 
 at whom he gazed with close attention. 
 
 " Will you take some more hare, mother? Mademoiselle, 
 you are eating nothing," the sailor said to Francine, and he 
 busied himself with his companions. 
 
 But there was something so cruelly earnest in Hulot's sur- 
 prise and Mile, de Verneuil' s attention, that it was dangerous 
 to disregard these facts. 
 
 " What is the matter, commandant ! Do you happen to 
 know me ? " he asked sharply. 
 
 " Perhaps," answered the Republican. 
 
 " Indeed, I think I have seen you as a visitor at the 
 school." 
 
 " I never went to school at all," the commandant answered 
 abruptly. " What sort of school may you come from? " 
 
 "The Ecole polytechnique." 
 
 " Oh ! ah ! yes ! Those barracks where they train soldiers 
 in the dormitories," replied the commandant, who had an 
 ungovernable dislike of all officers from this scientific semi- 
 nary. " What corps are you serving in ? " 
 
 " I am in the navy." 
 
 "Ah!" said Hulot, laughing spitefully, "do you know 
 many pupils from that school in the navy? They only turn 
 out officers of artillery and engineers," he went on sternly. 
 
 The other was not disconcerted. 
 
 "The name I bear has made an exception of me," he 
 answered. " We have all been sailors in our family."
 
 96 THE CHOUANS. 
 
 "Ah!" said Hulot; "and what is your family name, 
 citizen? " 
 
 " Du Gua Saint-Cyr." 
 
 " Then you were not murdered at Mortagne? " 
 
 " Ah ! A very little more and we would have been," said 
 
 Madame du Gua; "my son had a couple of balls through 
 
 
 "Have you your papers?" said Hulot, who paid no atten- 
 tion to the mother. 
 
 "Would you like to read them?" said the young man 
 flippantly, with malice in his blue eyes, as he looked from the 
 scowling commandant to Mile, de Verneuil.. 
 
 "I am to have a young fool set his wits at me, I suppose," 
 said Hulot. " Give me your papers, or come away with 
 you." 
 
 "Come, come, my fine fellow, I am not a recruit. Why 
 should I answer you? Who may you be? " 
 
 "I am the commandant of the department," answered 
 Hulot. 
 
 "Oh, then this is a very serious matter, and I might be 
 taken with arms in my hands." He held out a glass of 
 Bordeaux wine to the commandant. 
 
 "I am not thirsty," said Hulot. "Come, show me your 
 papers." 
 
 Just then the tramp of soldiers and the clanking of weapons 
 filled the street. Hulot stepped to the window with a satisfac- 
 tion that alarmed Mile, de Verneuil. This sign of concern 
 softened the young man, whose face had grown cold and hard. 
 He searched the pocket of his coat and drew out an elegant 
 portfolio, and from this he selected papers which he handed 
 to the commandant, and which Hulot began to read deliber- 
 ately, studying the signature on the passport and the face of 
 the suspected traveler. As he proceeded with his scrutiny, 
 the screech-owl hooted again, but this time it was plainly in 
 the accents of a human voice.
 
 A NOTION OF FOUCH&S. 97 
 
 The commandant returned the papers with a sarcastic ex- 
 pression. 
 
 "This is all very fine," he said, " but you must follow me 
 to the district headquarters. I am not fond of music," ac- 
 companying it with a slight movement towards the door. 
 
 "Why take him to the district headquarters? " asked Mile. 
 de Verneuil in a new tone of voice. 
 
 "That is no business of yours, young lady," said Hulot, 
 with the usual grimace. 
 
 Irritated at this language from the old soldier, and by the 
 way she had been lowered, as it were, in the eyes of a man who 
 had taken a fancy to her, Mile, de Verneuil dropped the 
 sedate manner which had hitherto been hers, her color rose, 
 and her eyes glowed. 
 
 "Tell me, has this young man satisfied the requirements 
 of the law?" she asked gently, though her voice faltered a 
 little. 
 
 "Yes, to outward seeming." 
 
 "Well, then, I shall expect you to leave him alone 'in 
 outward seeming.' Are you afraid he will escape you? You 
 are going to escort us to Mayenne ; he and his mother will 
 travel in the coach with me. No objections it is my wish ! 
 Now, what is it?" she added when he made his usual little 
 grimace. " Do you still suspect him ? " 
 
 "To some extent." 
 
 "What do you want to do?" 
 
 " Nothing but to cool his head a bit with some lead. 
 A hare-brained boy ! ' ' said the commandant, sardonically. 
 
 "You are joking, colonel." 
 
 "Come, comrade!" said the commandant, with a move- 
 ment of the head ; " come, let us be off, sharp ! " 
 
 At this impertinence from Hulot, Mile, de Verneuil smiled 
 and grew calm. 
 
 "Stay where you are," she said to the young man, with a 
 dignified gesture of protection. 
 7
 
 98 THE CHOUANS. 
 
 "What a splendid head!" he whispered to his mother, 
 who knitted her brows. 
 
 Repressed vexation and wounded susceptibilities had brought 
 new beauties into the fair Parisian's face. Every one rose to 
 their feet, Francine, and Mme. du Gua and her son. Mile. 
 de Verneuil quickly stepped between them and the comman- 
 dant, who was smiling, and deftly unfastened the loops of 
 braid on her spencer. Then with the heedlessness that possesses 
 a woman whose self-love has been severely wounded, she drew 
 out a letter and handed it at once to the commandant, pleased 
 with her power, and as impatient to exercise it as any child 
 can be to try a new plaything. 
 
 " Read it," she said with a sarcastic smile. 
 
 Intoxicated with her triumph, she returned towards the 
 young man, with a glance at him in which malice and love 
 were mingled. The brows of both grew lighter, a flush of 
 joy overspread their excited faces, innumerable contending 
 thoughts arose in their minds. Mme. du Gua's glance seemed 
 to say that she attributed Mile, de Verneuil's generosity rather 
 to love than to charity, and she was certainly quite right. 
 The fair traveler flushed up in the first instance, and modestly 
 lowered her eyelids, as she gathered the meaning of that fem- 
 inine glance ; but she raised her head proudly under the men- 
 acing accusation, and defiantly met all eyes. Meanwhile, the 
 petrified commandant handed back her letter, countersigned 
 by ministers, and enjoining all persons in authority to obey the 
 orders of the mysterious bearer ; but he drew his sword from its 
 sheath, broke it over his knee, and flung down the fragments. 
 
 "Mademoiselle, you probably know what you are about; 
 but a Republican has his own ideas and a pride of his own, and 
 I have not yet learned to take my orders from a pretty woman. 
 The First Consul will receive my resignation to-night, and 
 another than Hulot will obey you. When I do not under- 
 stand a matter, I will not stir in it, especially if I am supposed 
 to understand it and cannot."
 
 READ IT," SHE SAID, WITH A SARCASTIC SMILE.
 
 A NOTION OF FOUCH&S. 99 
 
 There was a moment's silence, soon broken by the young 
 Parisian lady, who went up to the commandant, held out her 
 hand, and said 
 
 " Colonel, although your beard is rather long, you may give 
 me a kiss. You are a man ! " 
 
 " So I trust, mademoiselle," he answered, as he awkwardly 
 pressed his lips to the hand of this strange girl. " As for you, 
 comrade," and he pointed his finger at him, "you have had 
 a narrow escape." 
 
 "The joke has gone quite far enough, commandant; if 
 you like, I will go to the district headquarters with you," said 
 the laughing stranger. 
 
 " And bring that invisible whistler Marche-a-Terre along 
 with you." 
 
 "Marche-a-Terre who is that?" asked the sailor, with 
 every sign of genuine surprise. 
 
 " Did not some one whistle a minute ago? " 
 
 " If they did," said the other, "what has that to do with 
 me, I wonder? I thought that your men, brought here no 
 doubt to arrest me, were warning you of their approach." 
 
 " Was that really what you thought?" 
 
 "Eh, man Dieu ! Yes. Drink your glass of Bordeaux; 
 it is delicious." 
 
 Perplexed by the sailor's astonishment, by the levity of his 
 manner, and the almost childish appearance of his face, with 
 its carefully curled fair hair, the commandant's mind hesitated 
 among endless suspicions. He noticed Madame du Gua, who 
 was trying to read the secret of her son's glances at Mile, de 
 Verneuil, and suddenly asked her 
 
 " Your age, citoyenne ? " 
 
 " Alas ! the laws of our Republic are growing very merci- 
 less, Monsieur 1'Officier; I am thirty-eight years old," she 
 replied. 
 
 " May I be shot if I believe a word of it. Marche-a-Terre 
 is about ; I heard him whistle, and you are Chouans in dis-
 
 100 THE CHOUANS. 
 
 guise. Tonnerre de Dieu ! I will have the inn surrounded 
 and searched." 
 
 A whistle not unlike the sound he spoke of interrupted the 
 commandant's speech. It came from the courtyard. Fortu- 
 nately, Hulot hurried into the corridor, and did not notice 
 the pallor that overspread Madame duGua's face at the words. 
 When Hulot beheld the whistler, a postilion harnessing his 
 horses to the coach, his suspicions were allayed. It seemed 
 to him so absurd that Chouans should risk themselves in the 
 midst of Alencon that he returned in confusion. 
 
 " I forgive him, but some day he shall pay dear for the 
 moments he has made us spend here," said the mother gravely, 
 whispering to her son, and at that instant Hulot came into the 
 room again. The brave officer clearly showed on his embar- 
 rassed face the expression of a mental struggle between the 
 rigorous claims of duty and his own natural good nature. He 
 still looked surly, perhaps because he thought that he had 
 been mistaken, but he took the glass of Bordeaux and 
 said 
 
 "Excuse me, comrade; but if your school sends out such 
 youngsters for officers " 
 
 "Are there not still younger ones among the brigands? " 
 asked the so-called sailor, laughing. 
 
 "For whom did you take my son?" asked Mme. du 
 Gua. 
 
 " For the Gars, the leader sent over to the Chouans and 
 Vendeans by the English ministry, and whose style is the 
 Marquis of Montauran." 
 
 As he spoke the commandant still kept a close watch on the 
 faces of the two suspected persons. They looked at each 
 other with the peculiar expressions which two presumptuous 
 and ignorant people might assume successively, and which 
 might be translated by this dialogue : " Do you know what 
 this means?" "No; do you?" "Not a bit of it." 
 " What does he mean to say?" "He is dreaming," and
 
 A NOTION OF FOUCH&S. 101 
 
 there followed the mocking jeer of folly, which thinks itself 
 triumphant. 
 
 The mention of the Royalist general's name wrought in 
 Marie de Verneuil's manners and unconcern a sudden altera- 
 tion, which was only visible to Francine, the one person 
 present who could read the almost imperceptible shades of 
 expression on that young face. Completely baffled, the com- 
 mandant picked up the two pieces of his sword, and looked 
 at Mile, de Verneuil. The warmth and excitement in her 
 face had succeeded in stirring his own feelings ; he said 
 
 "As for you, mademoiselle, I shall stick to my word, and 
 to-morrow the fragments of my sword shall return to Bona- 
 parte, unless 
 
 " Eh ! What have I to do with your Bonapartes and your 
 Republics, your Chouans, your King, and your Gars? " cried 
 she, repressing with some difficulty an outburst of temper 
 which would have been in very poor taste. 
 
 A strange excitement or waywardness brought a brilliant 
 color to her face ; it was clear that the whole world would 
 become as nothing to this young girl from the moment when 
 she singled out one living creature in it from all others. But 
 suddenly she forced herself to be calm again, finding that all 
 eyes were turned upon her as upon a principal personage. 
 The commandant rose abruptly. Mile, de Verneuil, anxious 
 and disturbed, followed him, stopped him in the passage out- 
 side, and asked him in earnest tones 
 
 " Had you really very strong reason for suspecting this 
 young man to be the Gars ? " 
 
 " Tonnerre de Dieu ! That popinjay who came along with 
 you, mademoiselle, had just told me that the travelers and 
 courier had all been murdered by the Chouans, which I knew 
 already ; but I did not know that the name of the dead trav- 
 elers was du Gua Saint-Cyr ! " 
 
 " Oh, if Corentin is mixed up in it, I am not surprised at 
 anything any longer," she said, with a gesture of disgust.
 
 102 THE CHOUANS. 
 
 The commandant withdrew, not daring to look at Mile, de 
 Verneuil, whose dangerous beauty had already perturbed his 
 heart. 
 
 " If I had stayed there for ten more minutes," he said to him- 
 self, as he went downstairs, " I should have been fool enough 
 to pick up my sword again to escort her." 
 
 Mme. du Gua saw how the young man's eyes were fixed on 
 the door through which Mile, de Verneuil had made her exit, 
 and spoke in his ear 
 
 " It is always the same with you ! You will only come to 
 your end through some woman or other. The sight of a 
 doll makes you forget everything else. Why did you allow 
 her to breakfast with us ? What sort of demoiselle de Ver- 
 neuil can she be who accepts invitations to breakfast with 
 strangers, has an escort of Blues, and countermands them by 
 a paper kept in reserve in her spencer like a love-letter ? She 
 is one of those vile creatures, by means of whom Fouch6 
 thinks to entrap you, and that letter which she produced 
 authorized her to make use of the Blues against you." 
 
 "Really, madame," said the young man in a sharp tone 
 that cut the lady to the heart and made her cheeks turn white, 
 " her generosity is a flat contradiction to your theories. Be 
 careful to remember that we are only brought together by the 
 interests of the King. Can the universe be other than a void 
 for you, who have had Charette at your feet ? Could you live 
 any longer save to avenge him ? " 
 
 The lady stood lost in thought, like a man who watches the 
 shipwreck of his fortunes from the strand, and only feels a 
 stronger craving for his lost riches. 
 
 Mile, de Verneuil came back and exchanged with the young 
 man a smile and a look of gentle raillery. The prophecies 
 of hope were the more flattering because the future seemed so 
 uncertain, and the time that they might spend together so 
 very brief. 
 
 The glance, however rapid it might be, was not lost on
 
 A NOTION OF FOUCHfrS. 103 
 
 Mme. du Gua's discerning eyes. She saw what it meant, and 
 her brow slightly contracted at once ; her jealous thoughts 
 could not be kept entirely unexpressed by her face. Francine 
 was studying this woman ; she saw her eyes sparkle and the 
 color glow in her cheeks; a fiendish inspiration seemed to 
 animate her face ; she seemed to be in the throes of some 
 horrible convulsion ; but this passed like a flash across her 
 features, lightning could not be more rapid, nor death more 
 swift. Mme. du Gua resumed her apparent sprightliness with 
 such ready self-command that Francine thought she had been 
 dreaming. For all that, she trembled as she discerned in the 
 woman before her a nature at least as vehement as Mile, de 
 Verneuil's, and foresaw the alarming collisions that were sure 
 to come to pass between two minds of this temper. She shud- 
 dered again when she saw Mile, de Verneuil go up to the 
 young officer, fling at him one of those passionate glances 
 that intoxicate, and draw him by both hands towards the 
 window, with mischievous coquetry. 
 
 "Now," said she, as she tried to read his eyes, "confess 
 to me that you are not the citizen du Gua Saint-Cyr?" 
 
 "Yes; I am, mademoiselle." 
 
 " But both he and his mother were murdered the day before 
 yesterday ! ' ' 
 
 "I am extremely sorry," he answered, smiling at her ; " but 
 however that may be, I am none the less obliged to you. I 
 shall always remember you with deep gratitude, and I wish 
 that I were in a position to prove it." 
 
 " I thought I had saved an emigrant ; but I like you better 
 as a Republican." 
 
 . She became embarrassed at the words, which seemed to 
 have heedlessly dropped from her. Her lips grew redder. 
 There was nothing in her face but a delightfully artless revela- 
 tion of her feelings. Softly she dropped the young officer's 
 hands, not through bashfulness because she had pressed them, 
 but impelled by a thought within her heart well-nigh too
 
 104 THE CHOUANS. 
 
 heavy to bear. And so she left him intoxicated by his hopes. 
 Then, quite suddenly, she seemed to repent within herself of 
 this freedom, although these passing adventures of travel 
 might seem to justify it. She stood once more on ceremony, 
 took leave of her traveling companions, and vanished with 
 Francine. 
 
 When they had reached their room, Francine locked her 
 fingers together, and turned out the palms of her outstretched 
 hands, twisting her arms to do so, as she looked at her mis- 
 tress, saying, "Ah, Marie! how many things have happened 
 in such a short time ! There is no one like you for these 
 goings-on." 
 
 Mile, de Verneuil sprang to Francine and put her arms 
 round her neck. 
 
 " This is life ! " she cried. " I am in heaven ! " 
 
 "Or in hell, maybe," Francine answered. 
 
 "Yes hell, if you like ! " said Mile, de Verneuil merrily. 
 " Here, give me your hand ; feel how my pulse beats ! I am 
 in a fever. Little matters all the world to me now ! How 
 often have I not seen him in my dreams ! What a fine head 
 that is of his, and how his eyes sparkle ! " 
 
 "But will he love you? " asked the peasant girl with direct 
 simplicity. Her voice faltered, and her face took a sober 
 expression. 
 
 "Can you ask?" replied Mile, de Verneuil. "Now tell 
 me, Francine," she added, striking a half-comic, half-tragical 
 attitude before her, " would he be so very hard to please? " 
 
 " Yes ; but will the love last ? " Francine answered, smiling. 
 
 For a moment the two remained struck dumb Francine 
 because she had disclosed so much knowledge of life, and 
 Marie because, for the first time in her existence, she beheld 
 a prospect of happiness in a love affair. She was leaning, as 
 it were, over a precipice; and would fain try its depths, 
 waiting for the sound of the pebble that she had thrown over, 
 and, in the first instance, had thrown heedlessly.
 
 A NOTION OF POUCHES. 105 
 
 "Ah, that is my business," she said with the gesture of a 
 desperate gambler. " I have no compassion for a woman 
 who is cast off; she has only herself to blame for her desertion. 
 Once in my keeping, I shall know how to retain a man's 
 heart through life and death." There was a moment's pause, 
 and she added in a tone of surprise, " But how did you come 
 by so much experience, Francine ?" 
 
 "Mademoiselle," said the young countrywoman eagerly, 
 " I can hear footsteps in the corridor " 
 
 "Ah, not his" said the other, listening for them. "So 
 that is the way you answer me ! I understand you. I shall 
 wait for your secret, or I shall guess it." 
 
 Francine was right. Three raps on the door interrupted 
 their conversation, and Captain Merle soon showed his face 
 after he heard Mile, de Verneuil's invitation to enter. The 
 captain made a military salute, ventured a sidelong glance at 
 Mile, de Verneuil, and dazzled by the beautiful woman before 
 him, could find nothing else to say than, "I am at your 
 orders, mademoiselle." 
 
 "So you have become my protector on the resignation of 
 your chief of demi-brigade. Is not that what your regiment 
 is called?" 
 
 "My superior officer, Adjutant-Major Gerard, sent me to 
 you." 
 
 " So your commandant is afraid of me ? " she inquired. 
 
 " Begging your pardon, mademoiselle, Hulot is not afraid ; 
 but ladies are not much in his line, you see, and it rather put 
 him out to find his general wearing a mutch." 
 
 "It was his duty to obey his superiors for all that," Mile, 
 de Verneuil replied. "I have a liking for subordination I 
 give you warning and I do not like resistance to my au- 
 thority." 
 
 "It would be difficult," said Merle. 
 
 "Let us talk things over," Mile, de Verneuil continued. 
 " Your troops here are fresh ; they will escort me to Mayenne,
 
 106 THE CHOUANS. 
 
 which I can reach to-night. Could we find fresh soldiers 
 there so as to set out at once without a halt? The Chouans 
 do not know of our little expedition. If we travel at night 
 in this way, we should have to be very unlucky indeed to meet 
 with them in numbers sufficient to attack us. Let us see now ; 
 tell me if you think the plan feasible ? ' ' 
 
 "Yes, mademoiselle." 
 
 " How are the roads between Mayenne and Fougeres?" 
 
 " Rough ; and there are everlasting ups and downs a reg- 
 ular squirrel-track." 
 
 "Let us be off at once ! " said she; "and as we have no 
 dangers to fear on the outskirts of Alenc.on, set out first, and 
 we will soon overtake you." 
 
 "One might think she had been ten years in command," 
 said Merle to himself as he went out. " Hulot was wrong 
 about her ; that girl is not one of the sort that make their 
 living from feather beds. Mille cartouches ! If Captain Merle 
 means to be Adjutant-Major some day, I advise him not to 
 take St. Michael for the devil." 
 
 Whilst Mile, de Verneuil was taking counsel with the cap- 
 tain, Francine slipped out, intending to inspect from a corri- 
 dor window a spot in the courtyard which had attracted her 
 curiosity ever since her arrival in the inn. So rapt was her 
 gaze upon the heap of straw in the stable, that any one might 
 have thought her engaged in prayer before the shrine of the 
 Holy Virgin. Very soon she saw Mme. du Gua picking her 
 way towards Marche-a-Terre with all the caution of a cat that 
 tries not to wet its paws. At sight of the lady the Chouan 
 rose and stood most respectfully before her. This strange 
 occurrence revived Francine's curiosity. She sprang out into 
 the yard, gliding along by the wall so that Mme. du Gua 
 should not see her, and tried to hide herself behind the stable- 
 door. She held her breath, and walked on tiptoe, trying 
 not to make the slightest sound, and succeeded in placing her- 
 self close to March-a-Terre without attracting his attention.
 
 A NOTION OF FOUCH&S. 107 
 
 " And if, after you have made all these inquiries, you find 
 that that is not her name," said the stranger lady to the 
 Chouan, "you will shoot her down without mercy, as if she 
 were a mad dog." 
 
 " I understand," said Marche-a-Terre. 
 
 The lady returned to the inn as she had come ; the Chouan 
 put his red woolen cap on his head again, and stood scratch- 
 ing his ear like a man in doubt, when he saw Francine start 
 up before him as if by magic. 
 
 " Saint Anne of Auray ! " cried he, suddenly dropping his 
 whip, he clasped his hands and stood enraptured. A faint, 
 red flush lit up his rough face, and his eyes shone out like 
 diamonds in the mud. 
 
 " Is that really Cottin's lass?" he asked in a stifled voice, 
 audible to himself alone. "Aren't you just grand ! " (godaine) 
 he went on after a pause. This rather odd word, godain, 
 godaine, in the patois of the country, serves rustic wooers to 
 express the highest possible admiration of a combination of 
 beauty and finery. 
 
 " I am afraid to touch you," Marche-a-Terre added ; but, 
 nevertheless, he stretched out his big hand to Francine to 
 ascertain the weight of a thick gold chain which wound about 
 her throat, and hung down to her waist. 
 
 " You had better not, Pierre ! " Francine said, inspired by 
 the woman's instinct to tyrannize wherever she is not op- 
 pressed. Francine drew back with much dignity after enjoy- 
 ing the Chouan's surprise ; but there was plenty of kindliness 
 in her looks to make up for her hard words. She came nearer 
 again. "Pierre," she went on, "was not that lady talking 
 to you about the young lady, my mistress? " 
 
 Marche-a-Terre stood in silence ; his face, like the dawn, 
 was a struggle between light and darkness. He looked first 
 at Francine, then at the great whip that he had dropped, and 
 finally, back at the gold chain, which seemed to have for him 
 an attraction quite as powerful as the face of the Breton
 
 108 THE CHOUANS. 
 
 maid ; then, as if to put an end to his perplexities, he picked 
 up his whip again, and uttered not a word. 
 
 " Oh, it is not difficult to guess that the lady has ordered 
 you to kill my mistress," Francine continued. She knew the 
 scrupulous loyalty of the gars, and wished to overcome his 
 hesitation. Marche-a-Terre nodded significantly. For " Cot- 
 tin's lass," this was an answer. 
 
 " Very well then, Pierre, if anything should happen to 
 her, no matter how slight, or if you should take so much as a 
 hair of her head, we shall have seen each other for the last 
 time ; and we shall not even meet in eternity, for I shall be 
 in Paradise, and you will go to hell ! " 
 
 No demoniac exorcised by the offices of the Church per- 
 formed in pomp in the days of yore could have shown more 
 terror than Marche-a-Terre at this prophecy, uttered with a 
 conviction that went far to assure him that it would really 
 come to pass. The uncouth tenderness revealed in his first 
 glances now struggled with a fanatical sense of duty every 
 whit as exacting as love itself. He looked savage all at once 
 as he noticed the air of authority assumed by his innocent 
 former sweetheart. Francine explained the Chouan's glum- 
 ness in her own fashion. 
 
 " So you will do nothing for me? " she said in a reproach- 
 ful tone. The Chouan gave his sweetheart a look, black as 
 the raven's wing, at the words. 
 
 " Are you your own mistress?" asked he, in a growl that 
 no one but Francine could hear. 
 
 "Should I be here if I were?" she asked indignantly. 
 " But what are you doing here ? Still Chouanning and scour- 
 ing the roads like a mad animal looking for some one to 
 bite. Oh, Pierre, if you were reasonable you would come 
 with me. This pretty young lady, who, I may tell you, 
 was brought up in our house at home, has taken charge of 
 me. I have two hundred livres invested income; mad- 
 emoiselle gave five hundred crowns to buy my uncle Thomas'
 
 A MOTION OF FOUCHE'S. 109 
 
 big house for me, and I have two thousand livres of savings 
 besides." 
 
 But her smile and the enumeration of her riches failed of 
 their effect : she still confronted Marche-a-Terre's inscrutable 
 gaze. 
 
 " The rectors have told us to fight," he replied. "There 
 is an indulgence for every Blue that drops." 
 
 " But perhaps the Blues will kill you ! " 
 
 He let his arms fall at his sides by way of reply, as if he 
 regretted the meagreness of his sacrifice for God and the 
 King. "And then what would become of me?" the girl 
 went on sadly. 
 
 Marche-a-Terre looked at Francine like a man bereft of his 
 faculties. His eyes seemed to dilate, two tears stole down 
 his rough cheeks and rolled in parallel lines over his goatskin 
 raiment, a hollow groan came from his chest. 
 
 " Saint Anne of Auray ! is that all you will say to me, 
 Pierre, after we have been parted for seven years? How 
 changed you are ! " 
 
 "My love is always the same," the Chouan broke out in 
 gruff tones. 
 
 " No," she murmured ; " the King comes before me." 
 
 " I shall go," he said, " if you look at me in that way." 
 
 " Very well then, good-bye," she said sadly. 
 
 "Good-bye," echoed Marche-a-Terre. He seized Fran- 
 cine's hand, pressed it in his own and kissed it, made the 
 sign of the cross, and escaped into the stable like some dog 
 that has just purloined a bone. 
 
 "Pille-Miche," he called to his comrade, "I cannot see a 
 bit. Have you your snuff-box about you ? " 
 
 "Oh! ere bleu, what a fine chain!" said Pille-Miche, 
 fumbling in a pocket contrived in his goatskin. He held out 
 to Marche-a-Terre a little conical snuff-box, made out of a 
 cow's-horn, in which Bretons keep the snuff that they grind 
 for themselves in the long winter evenings. The Chouan
 
 110 THE CHOUANS. 
 
 raised his thumb so as to make a cup-shaped hollow in his left 
 hand, as pensioners are wont to do when measuring their 
 pinches of snuff, and shook the horn into it vigorously, Pille- 
 Miche having unscrewed the nozzle. A fine dust was slowly 
 shaken from the tiny hole at the end of this Breton appurte- 
 nance. March e-a-Terre repeated this feat seven or eight times 
 in silence, as if the powder possessed some virtue for changing 
 the current of his thoughts. Then with a sudden involuntary 
 gesture of despair, he flung the snuff-box to Pille-Miche and 
 picked up a carbine that lay hidden in the straw. 
 
 " There is no use in taking seven or eight pinches at a time 
 like that ! " said the niggardly Pille-Miche. 
 
 "Forward!" cried March e-a-Terre hoarsely. "There is 
 some work for us to do." Some thirty Chouans, who were 
 sleeping under the hay racks and in the straw, raised their 
 heads at this ; and seeing Marche-a-Terre standing, vanished 
 forthwith through a door which led into some gardens whence 
 they could reach the open country. 
 
 When Francine left the stable she found the mail-coach 
 ready to start. Mille. de Verneuil and her two traveling com- 
 panions were seated in it already. The Breton girl shuddered 
 to see her mistress in the coach with, at her side, the woman 
 who had just given orders to kill her. The "suspect" had 
 placed himself opposite Marie, and as soon as Francine took 
 her seat the heavy coach set out with all speed. 
 
 The gray clouds had vanished before the autumn sunlight, 
 which brought a certain revival of gladness to the melancholy 
 fields, as though the year were yet young. Many a pair of 
 lovers read an augury in these signs in the sky. Silence 
 prevailed among the travelers at first, to Francine's great sur- 
 prise. Mile, de Verneuil had returned to her former reserve ; 
 she kept her head slightly bent and her eyes downcast, while 
 her hands were hidden under a sort of cloak in which she had 
 wrapped herself. If she raised her eyes at all, it was to look 
 at the changing landscape as she was whirled through it. She
 
 A NOTION OF FOUCff&S. Ill 
 
 was secure of admiration, and was declining to take any notice 
 of it, but her indifference seemed scarcely genuine, and sug~ 
 gested coquetry. There is a certain touching purity which 
 dominates every fleeting phase of expression by which weaker 
 souls reveal themselves, but there was no charm of this kind 
 about this being, whose highly-wrought temperament had 
 marked her out for the storms of passion. The stranger oppo- 
 site was as yet altogether taken up with the delights of a 
 newly-begun flirtation, and did not try to reconcile the incon- 
 sistencies in this extraordinary girl a lofty enthusiast and a 
 coquette. Did not her feigned serenity give him a chance to 
 study her face at his leisure, rendered as beautiful now by 
 repose as before by excitement ? We are not very apt to find 
 fault with anything that gives us pleasure. 
 
 In a coach it is not easy for a pretty woman to avoid the 
 eyes of her fellow-travelers ; they turn to her in search of 
 one more relief from the tedium of the journey. The young 
 officer therefore took a pleasure in studying the striking and 
 clear-cut outlines of her face, delighted to satisfy the cravings 
 of a growing passion by gazing at her as at a picture, without 
 giving annoyance by his persistence or causing the fair 
 stranger to avoid his glances. 
 
 Sometimes the daylight brought out the transparent rose- 
 hues of her nostrils, and the double curves that lie between 
 the nose and the upper lip ; or a faint sunbeam would shed 
 its light upon every shade of color in her face, on the pearly 
 white about her mouth and eyes, growing to a dead ivory tint 
 at her throat and temples, and the rose-red in her cheeks. 
 He watched admiringly the contrasts of the light and shadow 
 underneath the masses of dark hair about her face, which lent 
 to it one more transient grace ; for everything is transient 
 about woman, her yesterday's beauty is not the beauty of 
 to-day, and this is lucky, perhaps, for her. 
 
 The sailor, as he called himself, was still at an age when a 
 man finds bliss in the nothings that make up the whole of
 
 112 THE CHOUANS. 
 
 love; he watched with pleasure the incessant movements of 
 her eyelids ; the rise and fall of her bodice as she breathed 
 fascinated him. Sometimes his fancy led him to detect a 
 connection between the expression of her eyes and a scarcely 
 discernible movement of her lips. For him every gesture was 
 a revelation of the young girl's nature, every movement 
 showed her to him in some new aspect. Some thought or 
 other flickered over the rapidly changing features, a sudden 
 flush of color overspread them, or they glowed with life as she 
 smiled ; and he would find inexpressible pleasure in the 
 attempt to penetrate the secret thoughts of the mysterious 
 woman before him. Everything about her was a snare, alike 
 for the senses and the soul. The silence, so far from being a 
 hindrance to an intimate understanding, was forging a chain 
 of thought to unite them both. After several encounters with 
 the stranger's glances Marie de Verneuil saw that this silence 
 would compromise her; so she turned to Mme. du Gua with 
 one of those banal questions that serve to open a conversation ; 
 but even then she could not help bringing in a mention of the 
 lady's son. 
 
 " How could you bring yourself to put your son into the 
 navy, madame?" said she. "Do you not condemn yourself 
 to a life of constant anxiety? " 
 
 " Mademoiselle, it is the lot of women of mothers, I 
 mean to tremble constantly for their dearest treasures." 
 
 "Your son is very like you." 
 
 " Do you think so, mademoiselle ? " 
 
 This serene acceptance of Mme. du Gua's statement as to 
 her age made the young man smile, and provoked a new 
 malignity in his supposed mother. Every glowing look that 
 her son bent on Marie increased her hatred. Both the silence 
 and the talk inflamed her anger to a fearful pitch, though it 
 was concealed beneath a most amiable manner. 
 
 *' You are quite mistaken, mademoiselle," said the stranger ; 
 " the navy is not more exposed to danger than the other ser-
 
 A NOTIO.\ OF POUCHES. 113 
 
 vice. Women ought not to dislike the navy, for have we not 
 one immense superiority over the land forces in that we are 
 always faithful to our mistresses? " 
 
 " Yes, because you cannot help it," laughed Mile, de 
 Verneuil. 
 
 " But it is faithfulness at any rate," said Mme. du Gua, in 
 an almost melancholy voice. 
 
 The conversation grew more and more lively, turning upon 
 matters which were only interesting to the three travelers. 
 Under circumstances of this kind people with active minds 
 are apt to give new significances to commonplace utterances ; 
 but beneath the apparently frivolous cross-fire of questions with 
 which these two amused themselves, the feverish hopes and 
 desires that stirred in them lay concealed. Marie was never 
 off her guard, displaying a tact and astute shrewdness which 
 taught Mme. du Gua that only by employing treachery and 
 slander could she look to triumph over a rival whose wit was 
 as formidable as her beauty. 
 
 The travelers overtook the escort, and the coach went less 
 rapidly on its way. The young sailor saw that there was a 
 long hill to climb, and proposed to Mile, de Verneuil that 
 they should alight and walk. The young man's friendly 
 politeness and courteous tact had its effect on the fair Parisian ; 
 he felt her consent to be a compliment. 
 
 "Are you of the same opinion, madame?" she asked of 
 Mme. du Gua. " Will you not join our walk? " 
 
 " Coquette ! " exclaimed the lady as she alighted. 
 
 Marie and the stranger walked together, and yet asunder. 
 He already felt himself mastered by vehement desires, and 
 was eager to break through the reserve with which she treated 
 him a reserve that did not deceive him in the least. He 
 thought to succeed in this by bringing his lively conversational 
 powers to bear upon his companion, with the debonair gaiety 
 of old France, that is sometimes light-hearted, sometimes 
 earnest, readily moved to laughter, but always chivalrous 
 8
 
 114 THE CHOUANS. 
 
 the spirit that distinguished the prominent men among the 
 exiled aristocracy. But the lively Parisian lady met his 
 attempts at frivolity in so disdainful a humor, rallied him 
 with such malicious reproaches, and showed so marked a 
 preference for the bold and elevated ideas that passed into his 
 talk in spite of himself, that he soon perceived the way to 
 please her. 
 
 So the conversation took another turn. The stranger 
 thenceforward fulfilled the promises made by his eloquent 
 face. Every moment he found new difficulties in understand- 
 ing this siren, who was captivating him more and more ; and 
 was compelled to suspend his judgment upon a girl who took 
 a capricious delight in contradicting each conclusion that he 
 formed concerning her. The mere sight of her beauty had 
 carried him away in the first instance, and now he felt him- 
 self strongly drawn towards this strange soul by a curiosity 
 which Marie herself took pleasure in stimulating. Uncon- 
 sciously their converse assumed a more intimate character ; 
 the indifferent tone which Mile, de Verneuil had unsuccess- 
 fully tried to give to it had disappeared entirely. 
 
 Although Mme. du Gua had followed the lover-like pair, 
 they had unwittingly walked faster than she did, and soon 
 found themselves about a hundred paces ahead of her. The 
 two picturesque beings were treading the sandy road, absorbed 
 in the childish pleasure of hearing their light footsteps sound- 
 ing together, pleased that the same spring-like rays of sunlight 
 should envelope them both, glad to breathe the same air with 
 the autumn scent of fallen leaves in it, which seemed to be 
 a nourishment brought by the breeze for the sentimental 
 melancholy of their growing love. Although neither of them 
 appeared to regard their brief companionship as anything but 
 an ordinary adventure, there was something in the sky above 
 them, in the season and in the place, which gave their senti- 
 ments a tinge of soberness, and lent an appearance of passion 
 to them. They began to praise the beauty of the day, and
 
 A NOTION OF FOUCHfrS. 115 
 
 then fell to talking of their strange meeting, of the end of 
 the pleasant intercourse so nearly approaching, and of how 
 easy it is to become intimate upon a journey with people, who 
 are lost to sight again almost directly after we meet them. 
 At this last observation, the young man availed himself of a 
 tacit permission which seemed to warrant him in making some 
 sentimental confidences, and in venturing a declaration, like 
 a man accustomed to situations of this kind. 
 
 " Do you notice, mademoiselle," he said, " how little our 
 feelings flow in their accustomed channels in these times of 
 terror in which we live ? Is there not a striking and unex- 
 plainable spontaneity about everything that takes place around 
 us ? We love nowadays, or we hate, on the strength of a 
 single glance. We are bound together for life, or we are 
 severed with the same speed that brings us to the scaffold. 
 We do everything in haste, like the nation in its ferment. 
 We cling to each other more closely amid these perils than 
 in the common course of life. Lately, in Paris, we have 
 come to know, as men learn on the battlefield, all that is 
 meant by a grasp of the hand." 
 
 " The thirst for a full life in a little space," she said, 
 "was felt then because merrused to have so short a time to 
 live." 
 
 She gave a rapid glance at her companion, which seemed to 
 put him in mind of the end of their brief journey, and added 
 maliciously, "You have a very fair knowledge of life for a 
 young man just leaving the Ecole polytechnique." 
 
 " What do you think of me ? " he asked after a moment's 
 pause; "tell me frankly and without hesitation." 
 
 " You wish in turn to acquire the right of speaking in like 
 fashion of me?" she queried, laughing. 
 
 "You are not answering me," he said after another slight 
 pause. " Beware ! silence is very often an answer in itself." 
 
 "Did I not guess all that you wished you could tell me? 
 Eh, mon Dieu / you have said too much already."
 
 116 THE CHOUANS. 
 
 "Oh, if we understand each other," he said, smiling, "I 
 have obtained more than I dared to hope." 
 
 She smiled so graciously at this, that she seemed willing 
 to engage in a courteous fence in words, in which a man de- 
 lights to press a woman closely. Half in jest and half in 
 earnest, they persuaded themselves that it was impossible that, 
 each for each, they could ever be other than they were at that 
 moment. The young man could fairly give himself up to a pre- 
 dilection which had no future before it, and Marie could laugh 
 at him. When, in this way, they had set up an imaginary 
 barrier between them, both of them seemed eager to take full 
 advantage of the dangerous liberty which they had just 
 acquired. Marie suddenly slipped on a stone and stumbled. 
 
 "Take my arm," said the stranger. 
 
 "I shall have to do so, giddy-pate! because you would 
 grow so conceited if I declined. Would it not look as if I 
 were afraid of you ? ' ' 
 
 "Ah, mademoiselle!" he said, pressing her arm against 
 him to let her feel the beating of his heart ; you have just 
 made me very vain by this favor." 
 
 "Well, then, my readiness to grant it will dispel your illu- 
 sions." 
 
 " Do you want to arm me already against the dangerous 
 emotions you inspire ? " 
 
 "I beg that you will stop this talk," she said; "do not 
 involve me in a labyrinth of boudoir small-talk and the jargon 
 of drawing-rooms. I do not like to find the sort of ingenuity 
 that any fool can attain to, in a man of your calibre. Look ! 
 Here we are, out in the open country, under a glorious sky ; 
 everything before us and above us is great. You wish to in- 
 form me that I am pretty ; is that not so ? But I can tell 
 that quite well from your eyes, and moreover I am aware of 
 it ; I am not a woman to be gratified by civil speeches. Possi- 
 bly you would speak to me of your sentiments? 1 ' she went on, 
 with sardonic emphasis on the last word. " Could you really
 
 A NOTION OF FOUCH&S. 117 
 
 think me foolish enough to believe in a sudden sympathy 
 powerful enough to control a whole life by the memories of 
 one morning? " 
 
 " Not the memories of a morning," he replied, " but of a 
 beautiful woman who has shown herself to be magnanimous 
 as well." 
 
 ''You forget," she said, laughing, "much greater at- 
 tractions than these. I am a stranger to you, and every- 
 thing about me must seem very unusual in your eyes my 
 name, rank, and position, and my freedom of thought and 
 action." 
 
 " You are no stranger to me," he exclaimed. I have divined 
 your nature ; I would not add one perfection more to your 
 completeness, unless it were a little more belief in the love 
 that you inspire at first sight." 
 
 " You poor seventeen-year-old boy ! You are prating of 
 love already !" she smiled. " Very well, so be it then. It is 
 a stock subject of conversation when any two creatures meet, 
 like the wind and the weather, when we pay a call. Let us 
 take it then. You will find no false modesty nor littleness in 
 me. I can hear the word ' love ' pronounced without blushing. 
 It has been said to me so very often, but not in tones that 
 the heart uses, that it has grown almost meaningless in my 
 ears. I have heard it repeated everywhere, in the theatre, in 
 books and in society, but I have never met with anything that 
 resembled the magnificent sentiment itself." 
 
 ' ' Have you looked for it ? " 
 
 "Yes." The word fell from her so carelessly that the 
 young man started and gazed at Marie ,as if his views with 
 regard to her character and condition had undergone a sudden 
 change. 
 
 " Mademoiselle, are you girl or woman, an angel or a fiend ?" 
 he asked with ill-concealed emotion. 
 
 "Both the one and the other," she answered him, smiling. 
 " Is there not something both diabolical and angelic in a girl
 
 118 THE CHOUANS. 
 
 who has never loved, does not love, and possibly never will 
 love?" 
 
 "And you are happy for all that?" he asked, with a cer- 
 tain freedom of tone and manner, as if this woman who had 
 liberated him had fallen in his esteem already. 
 
 "Happy? "she asked. " Oh, no ! When I happen to 
 think how solitary I am, and of the tyranny of social conven- 
 tions which perforce makes a schemer of me, I envy man his 
 prerogatives. Then at the thought of all the means with which 
 nature has endowed us women, so that we can surround you 
 and entangle you in the meshes of an invisible power that 
 not one of you can resist, my lot here has its attractions for 
 me; and then all at once it seems to me a pitiful thing, and 
 I feel that I should despise a man who could be deceived by 
 these vulgar wiles. Sometimes, in short, I recognize the yoke 
 we must bear with approval ; then, again, it is hateful to me, 
 and I rebel against it. Sometimes a longing stirs within me 
 for that lot of devotion which makes a woman so fair and 
 noble a thing, and then again I am consumed by a desire 
 for power. This is perhaps the natural struggle between good 
 and evil instincts, by which everything lives here below. 
 Angel or fiend, did you say? Ah, I do not recognize my 
 double nature to-day for the first time. We women know our 
 own insufficiency even better than you do. Instinctively we 
 expect in everything a perfection which is no doubt im- 
 possible. But," she sighed as she turned her eyes to the sky, 
 " there is one thing which ennobles us in your eyes 
 
 "And that is ?" asked he. 
 
 "Well, that is the fact that we are all struggling more or 
 less against our destiny of incompleteness." 
 
 "Mademoiselle, why must we take leave of you to-night?" 
 
 "Ah!" she said, smiling at the glowing look the young 
 man turned upon her ; "let us go back to the coach, the fresh 
 air is not good for us," and Marie hurried back to it. As the 
 stranger followed he pressed her arm, with scanty respect for
 
 A NOTION OF FOUCH&S. 119 
 
 her, but in a manner which expressed both his admiration 
 and the feelings which had gained the mastery over him. She 
 quickened her pace ; the sailor guessed that she meant to 
 escape from a suit which might be urged upon her ; and this 
 made him the more vehemently eager. He risked everything 
 to gain a first favor from this woman, and said diplomatically 
 
 " Shall I tell you a secret ? " 
 
 " Oh, at once, if it relates to your own affairs." 
 
 " I am not in the service of the Republic. Where are you 
 going? I will go with you." 
 
 Marie shuddered violently at these words. She withdrew 
 her arm from his and put both hands before her face to hide 
 the red flush, or the pallor it may be, that wrought a change 
 in her features ; then in a moment she uncovered her face and 
 said in a tremulous voice 
 
 "So you began as you would fain have ended, by deceiving 
 me?" 
 
 " Yes," he said. She turned her back on the bulky coach 
 towards which they were walking, and almost started to run. 
 
 "But just now the fresh air was not good " began the 
 
 stranger. 
 
 " Oh, it is different now," she said with a sad note in her 
 voice, and she walked on; a storm of thoughts was raging 
 within her. 
 
 'You are silent?" the stranger said. His heart was full 
 of joyous anticipation of pleasure to come. 
 
 "Oh ! " she cried briefly, "how quickly the tragedy has 
 begun ! " 
 
 "What tragedy are you talking of?" he inquired. She 
 stopped short, scanning the pupil from the Ecole with both 
 fear and curiosity in her looks, then she concealed her troubled 
 feelings beneath an inscrutable serenity ; evidently for so 
 young a woman she had no small practical knowledge of life. 
 
 "Who are you?" she went on. "But I know who you 
 are. I suspected you at first sight. Are you not the Royalist
 
 120 THE CHOUANS. 
 
 chief called the Gars ? The ex-bishop of Autun was quite 
 right when he cautioned us to believe in our forebodings 
 of ill." 
 
 " What interest can there be for you in knowing that 
 fellow?" 
 
 " What interest could he have in concealing his identity 
 when I have saved his life already?" She began to laugh, 
 but it was with a visible effort. "I did wisely," she said, 
 "when I prevented you from making love to me. Under- 
 stand this, sir, you are abhorrent to me. I am a Republican, 
 you are a Royalist ; I would give you up if I had not passed 
 my word, if I had not saved your life once already, and if 
 
 " She broke off. These stormy revulsions of feeling, 
 
 the struggle which she scarcely troubled herself to hide from 
 him any longer, alarmed the stranger. He tried to watch 
 her, but to no purpose. 
 
 " Let us part at once. I will have it so. Good-bye ! " said 
 she. She turned sharply from him, took a step or two, and 
 then came back again. 
 
 "Nay," she said, "it is of immense importance to me to 
 know who you really are. Do not hide anything ; tell me 
 the truth. Who are you ? You are no more a pupil of the 
 Ecole poly technique than a seventeen-year-old " 
 
 " I am a sailor, ready to leave the sea to follow you wher- 
 ever your fancy may lead me. If I am fortunate enough to 
 represent a puzzle of some sort to you, I shall be very careful 
 not to extinguish your interest in it. Why should we bring 
 the grave cares of real life into the life of the heart, in which 
 we were coming to understand one another so well ? " 
 
 " Our souls could have met and known each other," she 
 said earnestly. "But I have no right to demand your con- 
 fidence, sir. You shall never know the extent of your obliga- 
 tions to me ; I will say no more." They went some little way 
 in absolute silence. 
 
 " You take a great interest in my life," the stranger began.
 
 A NOTION OF FOUCH&S. 121 
 
 " For pity's sake, sir, either give me your name, or do not 
 speak. You are a child, and I am sorry for you," she added, 
 shrugging her shoulders. 
 
 The persistent way in which his fellow-traveler set herself 
 to learn his secret brought the supposed sailor into a predica- 
 ment between ordinary prudence and his desires. A powerful 
 attraction lies in the displeasure of a woman we long to win ; 
 and when she yields and relents, no less than in her anger, 
 her sway is absolute ; she seizes upon so many fibres of man's 
 heart as she subdues and penetrates it. Was her vexation one 
 more wile of the coquette in Mile, de Verneuil ? In spite of 
 the fever that burned within him, the stranger had sufficient 
 remaining self-control to mistrust a woman who wished to 
 extort his secret of life and death from him. He held the 
 hand which she absently allowed him to take. " Why," said 
 he to himself, "should my blundering, which sought to add 
 a future to to-day, have destroyed all the charm of it 
 instead?" 
 
 Mile, de Verneuil, who seemed to be in great trouble, was 
 silent. 
 
 " In what way is it possible that I can give you pain? " he 
 began, " and what can I do to soothe you? " 
 
 "Tell me your name." It was his turn to be silent now, 
 and they walked on some steps further. Then Mile, de Ver- 
 neuil suddenly stopped, like some one who has made a 
 momentous decision. 
 
 " Marquis of Montauran," she said with dignity, though 
 she could not altogether hide the inward agitation which gave 
 a kind of nervous trembling to her features. " I am happy to 
 do you a service, at whatever personal cost. Here we must 
 separate. The coach and the escort are too necessary for your 
 safety for you to decline to accept either of them. You have 
 nothing to fear from the Republicans ; all those soldiers you 
 see are men of honor, and I shall give orders to the adjutant 
 which he will carry out faithfully. I myself shall return on
 
 122 THE CHOUANS. 
 
 foot to Alencon : my maid and a few of the soldiers will go 
 back with me. Heed me well, for your life is in danger. If 
 before you are in safety you should meet the detestable mus- 
 cadin whom you saw in the inn, then you must fly, for he 
 
 would immediately give you. up. As for me " here she 
 
 paused, and then went on in a low voice as she kept back the 
 tears, " I shall plunge once more into the miseries of life with 
 a proud heart. Farewell, sir. May you be happy, and, fare- 
 well " 
 
 She beckoned to Captain Merle, who had reached the top 
 of the hill. The young man was not prepared for such a 
 sudden development as this. 
 
 "Stay ! " he cried with a very fair imitation of despair. 
 The stranger had been so taken by surprise at this singular 
 freak on the girl's part, that though he was ready, at that 
 moment, to sacrifice his life to gain her, he invented a pitiable 
 subterfuge to satisfy Mile, de Verneuil without revealing his 
 name. 
 
 "Your guess was a very near one," he said; "I am an 
 emigrant under sentence of death, and I am called the Vicomte 
 de Bauvan. I came back to be near my brother in France, 
 drawn by the love of my country. I hope to be struck out 
 of the list through the influence of Mme. de Beauharnais, who 
 is now the First Consul's wife ; but if that fails, I mean at any 
 rate to die on French soil to fall fighting by the side of my 
 friend Montauran. I am going, in the first place, secretly 
 into Brittany by the help of a passport that I have succeeded 
 in obtaining, to learn if any of my property there yet remains 
 to me." 
 
 Mile, de Verneuil studied the young gentleman as he spoke 
 with keen attention. She tried to weigh the truth of his 
 words, but it was in her nature to be trustful and credulous, 
 and her appearance of tranquillity slowly returned as she asked, 
 "Is all that you have just told me true, sir?" 
 
 "Absolutely true," the stranger repeated, who appeared to
 
 A NOTION OF POUCHES. 123 
 
 regard veracity but slightly in his dealings with women. Mile, 
 de Verneuil heaved a deep sigh like one coming to life again. 
 
 " Ah ! I am really happy ! " cried she. 
 
 " So you quite hate my poor Montauran ! " 
 
 "No," she said; " you cannot understand me. I did not 
 wish that you should be threatened by dangers from which I 
 will try to shield him, since he is your friend." 
 
 "Who told you that Montauran was in danger?" 
 
 " Oh, sir, if I had not just left Paris, where nothing but 
 his adventure is being talked of, the commandant told us 
 quite sufficient about him at Alencon, I think." 
 
 " Then I am going to ask you in what way you could shield 
 him from danger." 
 
 " And suppose I should not choose to answer ! " she said, 
 with the haughty expression which women so readily assume to 
 conceal their feelings. " What right have you to know my 
 secrets ? ' ' 
 
 " The right that a man who loves you ought to have." 
 
 " Already ? " said she. " No, sir, you do not love me ; 
 
 for you I am simply a fitting object for a passing affair of gal- 
 lantry. Did I not read your thoughts at the first glance ? 
 Could a woman with any experience of good society/ as man- 
 ners are at present, be deceived about you, when she hears a 
 pupil from the Ecole poly technique choose his expressions as 
 you do, and when he so clumsily disguises his courtly breed- 
 ing beneath an appearance of Republicanism ? There is a 
 trace of powder about your hair, an aristocratic atmosphere 
 about you which any woman of the world would recognize 
 at once. It was because I trembled for you that I so promptly 
 dismissed my director, whose wits are as keen as a woman's. 
 A genuine Republican officer from the Ecole, sir, would never 
 have thought to make a conquest of me, nor would he have 
 taken me for a good-looking adventuress. Permit me, M. de 
 Bauvan, to put a small piece of feminine reasoning before 
 you. Are you really so young that you do not know that the
 
 124 THE CHOUANS. 
 
 most difficult conquests to make are of those creatures of our 
 sex whose market value is known and who are satiated 
 with pleasure ? To gain that kind of woman, so they say, 
 great inducements are needed, and she only surrenders at her 
 own caprice ; to attempt to make any impression upon her 
 would be the acme of self-conceit in a man. Let us leave 
 out of the question the women of the class in which you are 
 so gallant as to include me (because it is understood that they 
 all must be beautiful), and you ought to see that a witty and 
 beautiful young woman of good birth (for you concede those 
 advantages to me) is not to be purchased there is but one 
 way of winning her, she must be loved. Now you understand 
 me ! If she loves, and condescends to folly, there must be 
 something great in it to justify her in her own eyes. Pardon 
 an exuberance of reasoning, not often met with in persons of 
 my sex; but for your own sake, and for mine," she added, 
 with a bend of her head, " I would not have either of us 
 deceived as to the worth of the other, nor would I have you 
 believe that Mile, de Verneuil, whether fiend or angel, girl or 
 woman, could allow herself to be captivated by the common- 
 places of gallantry." 
 
 "Mademoiselle," began the supposed viscount, whose sur- 
 prise was extreme, although he concealed it, and who sud- 
 denly became once more a very fine gentleman, " I beg of 
 you to believe that I will look upon you as a very noble 
 woman, full of lofty and generous feeling, or as a kind-hearted 
 girl whichever you choose." 
 
 " I do not ask so much of you, sir," she said, laughing. 
 " Leave me my incognito. My mask, moreover, fits more 
 closely than yours does, and it pleases me to retain it, if only 
 that I may know whether people who speak of love to me are 
 
 sincere. Do not venture to approach me so heedlessly. 
 
 Hear me, sir," she went on, grasping his arm firmly, " if you 
 could satisfy me that your love was sincere, no power on earth 
 should sunder us. Yes, I could wish to share in the larger
 
 A NOTION OF FOUCH&S. 125 
 
 life of a man, to be wedded to lofty ambitions and great 
 thoughts. Unfaithfulness is impossible to noble hearts ; con- 
 stancy is a part of their natural strength. I should be always 
 loved, always happy. But yet, I should not be ready at all 
 times to lay myself under the feet of the man I loved as a 
 step upon which he might rise in his career. I could not 
 give up all things for him, endure all things from him, and 
 still love on, even when he had ceased to love me. I have 
 never yet ventured to confide the longings of my own heart 
 to another, nor to speak of the impassioned impulses of the 
 enthusiasm that consumes me ; but I can readily speak to you 
 of them to some extent, because the moment that you are in 
 safety we shall separate. ' ' 
 
 " Separate ? never ! " he cried, electrified by the tones of 
 her voice, through which a powerful soul vibrated, a soul at 
 strife, as it seemed, with some vast thought. 
 
 "Are you free?" she asked with a scornful glance at him 
 which made him shrink. 
 
 " Oh, free yes ; but for the sentence of death." 
 
 Then she spoke, and her voice was full of bitterness, "If 
 this were not all a dream, what a glorious life ours should be ! 
 But let* us commit no follies, though I may have talked fool- 
 ishly. Everything seems doubtful when I think of all that 
 you ought to become before you can appreciate me at my just 
 worth." 
 
 " And nothing would be doubtful to me if you would be 
 mine " 
 
 " Hush ! " she cried, as she heard the words, with a genuine 
 ring of passion in them; "the air is certainly no longer 
 wholesome for us, let us go back to our chaperons." 
 
 It was not long before the coach overtook the two, who 
 resumed their places, and they went on in silence for several 
 leagues. If both of them had plenty to think about, their 
 eyes henceforth avoided each other no more. Each seemed 
 to have, since their conversation, an equal interest in watching
 
 126 THE CHOUANS. 
 
 the other, and in keeping an important secret hidden ; yet 
 each also felt attracted to the other by a desire which had 
 risen to the degree of passion, as each recognized characteris- 
 tics which enhanced the pleasure they expected to receive from 
 union or from conflict. Perhaps both of them, embarked 
 upon their lives of adventure, had come to the strange con- 
 dition of mind when, either from weariness, or by way of a 
 challenge to fate, we decline to reflect seriously over the 
 course we are pursuing, and yield ourselves up to the caprices 
 of fortune, precisely because there is but one possible issue, 
 which we behold as the inevitable result of it all. Are there 
 not abysses and declivities in the moral as in the physical 
 world, wherein vigorous natures love to plunge and endanger 
 their existence, with the joy of a gambler who stakes his 
 whole fortune on one throw? Mile, de Verneuil and the 
 young noble had in a manner come to understand these ideas, 
 which were common to them both since the conversation 
 which had given rise to them ; and both had suddenly made 
 great progress when the sympathy of the soul had followed 
 that of their senses. For all that, the more inevitably they 
 felt drawn towards each other, the more they became absorbed 
 in unconsciously counting up the amount of happiness to 
 come for them, if only for the sake of the additional pleasure. 
 The young man had not recovered from his amazement at 
 the depths of thought in this extraordinary girl ; and he 
 began with wondering how she could combine so much experi- 
 ence with such youthful freshness. He next thought that he 
 discerned an intense desire to appear innocent in the studied 
 innocence of Marie's general behavior ; he suspected this to 
 be assumed. He took himself to task for his delight, and 
 could only see a clever actress in this fair stranger. He 
 was quite right. Mile, de Verneuil, like all girls who have 
 been early thrown on the world, became more and more 
 reserved as her feelings grew warmer ; and, very naturally, 
 she assumed that prudish mien which women use successfully
 
 NOTION OF FOUCH&S. 127 
 
 to conceal their violent desires. All women would fain meet 
 love with a maiden soul, and when it is theirs no longer, their 
 hyprocrisy is a tribute with which they welcome love's coming. 
 These were the thoughts that passed rapidly through the mind 
 of the noble, and gave him pleasure. 
 
 Both of them, in fact, could not but make some progress in 
 love by this examination. In this way a lover swiftly reaches 
 the point where the defects in his mistress are so many reasons 
 for loving her the more. Mile, de Verneuil's meditations 
 lasted longer than those of the emigrant ; perhaps her imagi- 
 nation took flight over a wider stretching future. He was 
 obeying but one of a thousand impulses that go to make up a 
 man's experience in life; but the girl foresaw her whole future, 
 taking a pleasure in making it fair and full of happiness and 
 of great and noble ideas. So in these dreams she was happy, 
 the present and the future, her wild fancies, and the actual 
 reality alike charmed her ; and Marie now sought to retrace 
 her steps, the better to establish her power over the young 
 man's heart, acting in this instinctively, as all women do. 
 
 After she had determined to surrender herself entirely, she 
 wished, so to speak, to yield inch by inch. She would fain 
 have recalled every action, every look and word in the past, 
 to make them in accord with the dignity of a woman who is 
 loved ; her eyes at times expressed a kind of terror as she 
 brooded over the bold attitude she had assumed in their late 
 conversation. But as she looked at his resolute face again, 
 she thought that one so strong must needs be generous too, 
 and exulted within herself that a lot more glorious than that 
 of most other women had fallen to her, in that her lover was 
 a man of powerful character, a man with a death sentence 
 hanging over him, who had just put his own life in peril to make 
 war upon the Republic. The thought that such a soul as this 
 was hers alone, with no other to share it, gave a different com- 
 plexion to everything else. Between that moment, only five 
 hours ago, when she had arranged her face and voice so as to
 
 128 THE CHOUANS. 
 
 attract this gentleman, and the present, when she could per- 
 turb him with a glance, there lay a difference as great as 
 between a dead and a living world. Beneath her frank laughter 
 and blithe coquetry lay a hidden and mighty passion tricked 
 out, like misfortune, in a smile. 
 
 In Mile, de Verneuil's state of mind everything connected 
 with external life partook of the nature cf a phantom show. 
 The coach passed through villages, and over hills and valleys, 
 which left no traces in her memory. She reached Mayenne, 
 the escort of soldiers was changed, Merle came to speak to 
 her, and she answered him, she crossed the town, and they 
 went on again ; but faces and houses, streets and landscapes, 
 and men, passed by her like the shadowy forms of a dream. 
 Night came on. Marie traveled along the road to Fougeres 
 by the soft light of the brilliant stars in the sky, and it never 
 struck her that there was any change in the heaven above her. 
 She neither knew where Mayenne was, nor Fougeres, nor her 
 own destination ; that, in a few hours, she might have to part 
 with the man whom she had chosen, and by whom, as she 
 thought, she herself had been chosen too, was an utter im- 
 possibility to her. Love is the one passion which knows 
 neither past nor future. If she betrayed her thoughts in 
 words at times, the sentences that fell from her were almost 
 meaningless, but in her lover's heart they echoed like promises 
 of joy. There were two who looked on at this newborn pas- 
 sion, and its progress under their eyes was alarmingly rapid. 
 Francine knew Marie as thoroughly as the stranger lady knew 
 the young man ; and past experience led them to expect in 
 silence some terrific catastrophe. Asa matter of fact, it was 
 not long before they saw the close of this drama, which Mile. 
 de Verneuil had, perhaps, in words of unconscious ill-omen, 
 entitled a tragedy. 
 
 When the four travelers had come about a league out of 
 Mayenne, they heard a horseman coming toward them at a 
 furious pace. As soon as he caught them up, he bent down
 
 A NOTION OF FOUCH&S. 129 
 
 and looked in the coach for Mile, de Verneuil, who recognized 
 Corentin. This ill-omened individual took it upon himself 
 to make a significant gesture with a familiarity which for her 
 had something scathing in it, and then departed, having made 
 her cold and wretched by this vulgar signal. 
 
 This occurrence seemed to affect the emigrant disagreeably, 
 which fact was by no means lost on his supposed mother; but 
 Marie touched him lightly, and her look seemed to seek a 
 refuge in his heart, as if there lay the one shelter that she had 
 on earth. The young man's brow grew clear, as he felt a thrill 
 of emotion, that Mile, de Verneuil should thus have allowed 
 him to see, inadvertently as it were, the extent of her attach- 
 ment for him. All her coquetry had vanished before an in- 
 explicable dread, and love had shown itself for a moment 
 unveiled. Neither of them spoke, as if the sweet moment 
 so might last a little longer.. Unluckily Mme. du Gua in their 
 midst saw everything; like a miser giving a banquet, she 
 seemed to count their morsels, and to measure out their life. 
 
 Altogether absorbed in their happiness, and without a 
 thought of the way they had come, the two lovers arrived at 
 the part of the road which lies along the bottom of the val- 
 ley of Ernee, forming the first of the three valleys among 
 which the events took place with which this story opened. 
 Francine saw and pointed out strange forms which seemed 
 to move like shadows through the trees and the ajoncs that 
 bordered the fields. As the coach came towards these 
 shadows, there was a general discharge of muskets, and the 
 whistling of balls over their heads told the travelers that all 
 these phantoms were substantial enough. The escort had 
 fallen into an ambush. 
 
 At this sharp fusillade, Captain Merle keenly regretted his 
 share in Mile, de Verneuil's miscalculation. She had thought 
 that the quick night journey would be attended with so little 
 risk that she had only allowed him to bring sixty men. Act- 
 ing under Gerard's orders, the captain immediately divided 
 9
 
 130 THE CHOUANS. 
 
 the little troop into two columns to hold the road on either 
 side, and both officers advanced at a running pace through 
 the fields of broom and furze, seeking to engage their adver- 
 saries before even learning their numbers. The Blues began 
 to beat up the thick undergrowth right and left with rash 
 intrepidity, and kept up an answering fire upon the bushes of 
 broom from which the Chouan volley had come. 
 
 Mile, de Verneuil's first impulse had led her to spring out 
 of the coach and to run back, so as to put some distance be- 
 tween her and the scene of the fray. But she grew ashamed 
 of her fright ; and, under the influence or the desire to grow 
 great in the eyes of her beloved, she stood quite still, and 
 tried to make a cool survey of the fight. The emigrant fol- 
 lowed her, took her hand, and held it to his heart. 
 
 "I was frightened," she said, smiling, " but now 
 
 Just at that moment her terrified maid called to her, " Take 
 care, Marie ! " But as Francine attempted to spring from 
 the coach, she felt the grasp of a strong hand arrest her. The 
 heavy weight of that huge hand drew a sharp cry from her ; 
 she turned and made not another sound when she recognized 
 Marche-a-Terre's face. 
 
 " So I must owe to your fears the disclosure of the sweet- 
 est of all secrets for the heart," the stranger said to Mile, de 
 Verneuil. " Thanks to Francine, I have found out that you 
 are called by the gracious name of Marie Marie, the name 
 that has been on my lips in every sorrow I have known ! 
 Marie, the name that henceforth I shall utter in joy. I shall 
 never more pronounce it without committing sacrilege, with- 
 out confusing my religion with my love ! But will it be a 
 sin, after all, to love and pray at the same time?" They 
 pressed each other's hands fervently as he spoke, and looked 
 at each other in silence ; the strength of their feelings had 
 taken from them all power of expressing them. 
 
 "There is no harm meant for you people," Marche-a-Terre 
 said roughly to Francine. There was a note of menace and
 
 A NOTION OF FOUCH&S. 131 
 
 reproach in the hoarse guttural sounds of his voice ; he laid 
 a stress upon every word in a way that paralyzed the innocent 
 peasant girl. 
 
 For the first time she was confronted with cruelty in Marche- 
 a-Terre's expression. Moonlight seemed the only suitable 
 illumination for such a face. The fierce Breton, with his cap 
 in one hand and his heavy carbine in the other, and with his 
 squat gnome-like form in the cold white rays of light which 
 give everything an unfamiliar look, seemed to belong rather 
 to fairyland than to this world. There was a shadowy swift- 
 ness about the coming of this phantom and his reproachful 
 exclamation. He turned immediately to Mme. du Gua and 
 exchanged some earnest words with her. Francine had for- 
 gotten her Bas- Breton, and could make nothing of their talk. 
 The lady seemed to be giving a complication of orders to 
 Marche-a-Terre, and the short conference was terminated by 
 an imperious gesticulation on her part, as she pointed out the 
 two lovers to the Chouan. 
 
 Before he obeyed her, Marche-a-Terre gave Francine one 
 last look. He seemed to be sorry for her, and would have 
 spoken, but the Breton girl felt that her lover was obliged to 
 keep silent. There were furrows in the rough sun-burned 
 skin on his forehead ; the man's brows were drawn together 
 in a heavy frown. Would he disobey this renewed order to 
 take Mile, de Verneuil's life? Mme. du Gua, no doubt, 
 thought him the more hideous for this grimace, but to Fran- 
 cine there was an almost tender gleam in his eyes. The look 
 told her that it was in her woman's power to direct that fierce 
 will, and she hoped yet to establish her sway after God's in 
 this wild heart. 
 
 Marie's tender conversation was interrupted by Mme. du 
 Gua, who caught hold of her with a cry, as if danger was at 
 hand. She had recognized one of the Royalist committee 
 from Alencon, and her sole object was to gain for him an 
 opportunity of speaking to the emigrant.
 
 132 THE CHOUANS. 
 
 " Mistrust the girl whom you met at the sign of the 
 'Three Moors!'" so said the Chevalier de Valois in the 
 young man's ear, and then both he and the Breton pony 
 which he rode disappeared in the bushes of broom whence he 
 had issued. The sharp rolling fire of the skirmish became at 
 this moment astonishingly hot, but the combatants could not 
 come to close quarters. 
 
 "Is not this attack a feint, adjutant, so that they may 
 kidnap our travelers and hold them for ransom ?" suggested 
 Clef-des-Cceurs. 
 
 " Devil fetch me, you are on the right track ! " was Gerard's 
 answer, as he flung himself on the road. 
 
 The Chouan fire grew slacker. They had gained their 
 object in the skirmish when the Chevalier's communication 
 was made to the chief. Merle saw them drawing off through 
 the hedges, a few at a time, and did not consider it expedient 
 to engage in a useless and dangerous struggle. The captain 
 had a chance to hand Mile, de Verneuil back into the carriage, 
 for there stood the noble, like one thunderstruck. The Pa- 
 risian in her surprise got in without availing herself of the 
 Republican's courtesy ; she turned to look at her lover, saw 
 him standing there motionless, and was bewildered by the 
 sudden change just wrought in him by the Chevalier's words. 
 Slowly the young emigrant returned ; his manner disclosed a 
 feeling of intense disgust. 
 
 " Was I not right ? " Mme. du Gua said in his ear, as she 
 went back with him to the coach. " We are certainly in the 
 hands of a creature who has struck a bargain for your life ; 
 but since she is fool enough to be smitten with you instead 
 of attending to her business, do not behave yourself like a 
 child, but pretend that you love her until we reach the Vive- 
 tiere, and once there Is he really in love with her already ? " 
 she added to herself, for the young man did not move, and 
 stood like one lost in dreams. 
 
 The coach rolled on almost noiselessly over the sandy road.
 
 A NOTION OF FOUCH&S. 133 
 
 At the first glance round about her everything seemed changed 
 for Mile, de Verneuil. The shadow of death had stolen across 
 love already. The differences were the merest shades perhaps; 
 but such shades as these are as strongly marked as the most 
 glaring hues for a woman who loves. Francine had learned 
 from Marche-a-Terre's expression that Mile, de Verneuil's 
 fate, over which she had bidden him to watch, was in other 
 hands than his. Whenever she met her mistress' eyes, she 
 turned pale and could scarcely keep back the tears. The 
 rancor prompting a feminine revenge was but ill concealed 
 by the feigned smiles of the stranger lady. The sudden 
 change in her manner, the elaborate kindness for Mile, de 
 Verneuil, infused into her voice and expression, was sufficient 
 to alarm any quick-sighted woman. Mile, de Verneuil shud- 
 dered instinctively, and asked herself, " Why did I shudder? 
 Is she not his mother? " But she trembled in every limb as 
 she suddenly asked herself, "But is she really his mother?" 
 Then she saw the precipice before her, and a final glance at the 
 man's face made it plain to her. 
 
 "This woman loves him!" she thought. "But why 
 should she overwhelm me with attentions after having shown 
 so much coolness to me ? Is it possible that she fears me, or 
 am I lost?" 
 
 As for the emigrant, he was red and pale by turns; he 
 retained his apparently calm manner by lowering his eyes, to 
 conceal the strange emotions that warred within him. His 
 lips were pressed together so tightly that their graceful curv- 
 ing outlines were disturbed ; a yellowish tint, due to the 
 violent conflict in his mind, overspread his face. Mile, de 
 Verneuil could not even discover if there was a lingering trace 
 of love in all this passion. Woods lined the road on either 
 side at this spot, and it became so dark that the mute actors 
 in the drama could no longer question each other with their 
 eyes. The sough of the wind rustling through the woods, and 
 the even paces of their escort, gave a tinge of awe to the time
 
 134 THE CHOUANS. 
 
 and place, a solemnity that quickens the beating of the heart. 
 Mile, de Verneuil could not long seek in vain for the cause 
 of the estrangement. The recollection of Corentin flashed 
 through her mind, and with that the idea of her real destiny 
 rose up suddenly before her. For the first time since the 
 morning, she fell to thinking seriously over her position. 
 Hitherto she had given herself up to the joy of being loved, 
 without a thought of the future or of the past. She grew unable 
 to bear her agony of soul any longer alone, and, with the meek 
 patience of love, sat waiting, beseeching one glance of the 
 young man. There was such a touching eloquence about her 
 mute passionate entreaty, her shudder, and her white face, 
 that he wavered a moment the catastrophe was but the more 
 complete. 
 
 " Are you feeling ill, mademoiselle ? " he inquired. There 
 was no trace of tenderness in his voice. His look and gesture, 
 the very question itself, all served to convince the poor girl 
 that all that had happened during the day had been part of a 
 soul-mirage, which was now dispersing as half-formed clouds 
 are borne away by the wind. 
 
 " Am I feeling ill ? " she replied, with a constrained laugh; 
 "I was just going to put the same question to you." 
 
 " I thought you both understood each other," said Mme. 
 du Gua with assumed good nature. 
 
 But neither Mile, de Verneuil nor the young noble made 
 her any answer. The girl thus grievously offended for the 
 second time was vexed to find that her all-powerful beauty 
 had lost its force. She knew that she could discover the 
 reason of this state of things whenever she chose, but she was 
 not anxious to look into it; and for the first time, perhaps, a 
 woman shrank back from learning a secret. There are in our 
 lives far too many situations when, either by dint of overmuch 
 thinking, or through some heavy calamity, our ideas become 
 disconnected, have no foundation in fact, and no basis to 
 start from ; the links that bind the present to the future and
 
 A NOTION OF FOUCHE'S. 135 
 
 to the past are severed. This was Mile, de Verneuil's condi- 
 dition. She bowed her head, lay back in the carriage, and 
 stayed in this position like an uprooted shrub. She took no 
 notice of any one, she saw nothing around her, but suffered 
 in silence, wrapping herself about in her sorrow, a deliberate 
 dweller in the solitary world whither unhappiness betakes 
 itself for shelter. Some ravens flew croaking over them ; but 
 although in her, as in all strong natures, there was a supersti- 
 tious spot, she gave no heed to them. The travelers went on 
 their way in silence for some time. 
 
 " Sundered already ! " said Mile, de Verneuil to herself. 
 " And yet nothing about me could have told him ! Could it 
 have been Corentin? But it is not to Corentin's interest. 
 Who can have risen up to accuse me ? I have scarcely been 
 beloved, and here already I am aghast at being forsaken. I 
 have sown love, and I reap contempt. So it is decreed by 
 fate that I shall never do more than see the happiness that I 
 must always lose." 
 
 There was a trouble within her heart that was new in her ex- 
 perience, for she really loved now, and for the first time. But 
 she was not so overcome by her pain that she could not oppose 
 to it the pride natural to a young and beautiful woman. Her 
 love was still her own secret ; the secret that torture often fails 
 to draw had not escaped her. She raised her head, ashamed 
 that her mute suffering should indicate the extent of the pas- 
 sion within her, showed a smiling face, or rather a smiling 
 mask, gave a gay little shake of the head, controlling her 
 voice, so as to show no sign of the change in it. 
 
 "Where are we now?" she asked of Captain Merle, who 
 always kept at a little distance from the coach. 
 
 "Three leagues and a half from Fougeres, mademoiselle." 
 " Then we shall very soon be there now," said she, to in- 
 duce him to begin to talk, her mind being fully made up to 
 favor the young captain with some mark of her consideration. 
 "Those leagues," replied the delighted Merle, "are no
 
 136 THE CHOUANS. 
 
 great matter, except that hereabouts they never let anything 
 come to an end. As soon as you reach the upland at the top 
 of this hill that we are climbing, you will see another valley 
 just like the one we are leaving behind, and then on the hori- 
 zon you can see the top of La Pelerine. God send that the 
 Chouans will be so obliging as not to have their revenge up 
 there. But as you can suppose, we don't get on very fast, 
 going up and down hill in this way. From La Pelerine again 
 you will see ' ' 
 
 The emigrant trembled slightly at that word for the second 
 time, but so slightly that Mile, de Verneuil alone observed it. 
 
 "What may this La Pelerine be?" the girl inquired 
 vivaciously, interrupting the captain, who was quite taken up 
 by his Breton topography. 
 
 "It is the summit of a hill," Merle answered. "It gives 
 its name to the valley here in Maine, which we are just going 
 to enter. The hill is the dividing line between that province 
 and the valley of the Couesnon ; Fougeres lies at the very end 
 of the valley, and that is the first town you come to in Brit- 
 tany. We had a fight there against the Gars and his bandits 
 at the end of Vendemiaire. We were bringing over some 
 conscripts, and they had a mind to kill us on the border so as 
 to stop in their own country ; but Hulot is a tough customer, 
 and he gave them " 
 
 " Then you must have seen the Gars ? " she asked. "What 
 sort of man is he ? " and all the time her keen malicious eyes 
 were never withdrawn from the pretended Vicomte de Bau- 
 van's face. 
 
 " Oh, mon Dieu ! mademoiselle," replied Merle, inter- 
 rupted again as usual ; " he is so very much like the citizen 
 du Gua, that if it were not for the uniform of the Ecole 
 polytechnique that he is wearing, I would bet it was the same 
 man." 
 
 Mile, de Verneuil stared hard at the cool and impassive 
 young man who was looking contemptuously back at her, but
 
 A NOTION OF POUCHES. 137 
 
 she could see nothing about him that revealed any feeling of 
 fear. By a bitter smile she let him know that she had just 
 discovered the secret he had so dishonorably kept. Then 
 her nostrils dilated with joy ; she bent her head to one side, 
 so that she could scrutinize the young noble, and at the same 
 time keep Merle in view, and said to the Republican in a 
 mocking voice 
 
 "This chief is giving the First Consul a good deal of 
 anxiety, captain. There is plenty of daring in him, they say, 
 but he will engage in adventures of certain kinds like a hare- 
 brained boy, especially if there is a woman in the case." 
 
 " We are just reckoning upon that to square our accounts 
 with him," said the captain. "If we can get hold of him 
 for a couple of hours, we will put a little lead in those brains 
 of his. If he were to come across us, the fellow from Cob- 
 lentz would do as much for us ; he would turn us off into the 
 dark, so it is tit for tat." "Oh, you have nothing to fear," 
 said the emigrant. " Your soldieis will never get as far as 
 La Pelerine ; they are too tired ; so if you agree to it, they 
 could take a rest only a step or two from here. My mother 
 will alight at the Vivetiere, and there is the road leading to 
 it, a few gunshots away. These two ladies would be glad to 
 rest there too; they must be tired after coming without a 
 break in the journey from Alencon hither." He turned to 
 Mile, de Verneuil with constrained politeness as he went on 
 "And, since mademoiselle has been so generous as to make 
 our journey safe as well as pleasant, perhaps she will con- 
 descend to accept an invitation to sup with my mother? 
 Times, in fact, are not so distracted but that a hogshead of 
 cider can be found at the Vivetiere to tap for your men. 
 The Gars will not have made off with everything ; or so my 
 mother thinks, at any rate " 
 
 "Your mother?" interrupted Mile, de Verneuil satirically, 
 without making any response to the strange invitation which 
 was held out to her.
 
 138 THE CHOUANS. 
 
 " Does my age seem no longer credible to you now that the 
 evening has come, mademoiselle?" asked Mme. du Gua. 
 " I was unfortunately married while very young ; my son was 
 born when I was fifteen " 
 
 "Are you not mistaken, madame? Should you not have 
 said thirty?" 
 
 Madame'du Gua turned pale as she swallowed this piece of 
 sarcasm. She longed for the power to avenge herself, and yet 
 must perforce smile. At all costs to herself, even by the en- 
 durance of the most stinging epigrams, she wished to dis- 
 cover the girl's motives of action, so she pretended not to 
 have understood. 
 
 " The Chouans have never had a leader so cruel as this 
 one, if we are to believe the rumors that are flying about con- 
 cerning him," she said, speaking at the same time to Francine 
 and Francine's mistress. 
 
 "Oh! I do not believe he is cruel," Mile, de Verneuil 
 answered, " but he can lie, and to me he seems exceedingly 
 credulous ; the leader of a party ought to be the dupe of no 
 one." 
 
 " Do you know him ? " asked the emigrant coolly. 
 
 "No," she answered, with a contemptuous glance at him, 
 "but I thought I knew him." 
 
 " Oh, mademoiselle, he is a shrewd one, and no mistake ! " 
 said the captain, shaking his head and giving to the word he 
 used (malin) by an eloquent gesture the peculiar shade of 
 meaning which it then possessed, and has since lost. " These 
 old families sometimes send out vigorous offshoots. They 
 come over here from a country where the ci-devants, so they 
 say, have by no means an easy time of it ; and men are like 
 medlars, you know they ripen best on straw. If the fellow 
 has a head on his shoulders, he can lead us a dance for a long 
 while yet. He thoroughly understood how to oppose his 
 irregular troops to our free companies, and so paralyze the 
 efforts of the government. For every Royalist village that is
 
 A NOTION OF FOUCH&S. 139 
 
 burnt he burns two for the Republicans. He has spread his 
 operations over a vast tract of country, and in that way he 
 compels us to bring a considerable number of troops into the 
 field, and that at a time when we have none to spare ! Oh, 
 he understands his business ! " 
 
 "He is murdering his own country," said Gerard, inter- 
 rupting the captain with his powerful voice. 
 
 "But if his death is to deliver the country," said the young 
 gentleman, " shoot him down, and be quick about it." 
 
 Then he tried to fathom Mile, de Verneuil's mind with a 
 glance ; and of the dramatic vivacity of the mute scene that 
 passed between them, and its subtle swiftness, words can give 
 but a very imperfect idea. Danger makes people interesting. 
 The vilest criminal excites some measure of pity when it 
 comes to be a question of his death. So Mile, de Verneuil, 
 being by this time quite certain that the lover who had scorned 
 her was the formidable rebel leader, did not seek to reassure 
 herself on this head by keeping him on the rack ; she had a 
 quite different curiosity to satisfy. She preferred to trust or 
 to doubt him, as her passion dictated, and set herself to play 
 with edged tools. She indicated the soldiers to the young 
 chieftain in a glance full of treacherous derision ; dangling the 
 idea of his danger before him, amusing herself with making 
 him painfully aware that his life hung on a word which her 
 lips seemed to be opening to pronounce. She seemed, like 
 an American Indian, to be ready to detect the movement of 
 any nerve in the face ot an enemy bound to the stake, flour- 
 ishing her tomahawk with a certain grace ; enjoying a revenge 
 unstained by crime, dealing out to him his punishment like a 
 mistress who has not ceased to love. 
 
 " If I had a son like yours, madam," she said to the visibly 
 terrified stranger," I should put on mourning for him on the 
 day when I sent him forth into danger." 
 
 She received no reply. Again and again she turned her 
 head towards the two officers, and then looked sharply at
 
 140 THE CHOUANS. 
 
 Mme. du Gua ; but she could not detect that there was any 
 secret signal passing between the lady and the Gars, such as 
 could assure her of an intimacy which she suspected, and yet 
 wished not to credit. A woman likes so much to maintain a 
 suspense of a life-and-death struggle when a word from her 
 will decide the issue. The young gentleman bore the torture 
 which Mile, de Verneuil inflicted upon him without flinching, 
 and with smiling serenity; the expression of his face and his 
 bearing altogether showed that he was a man utterly unaf- 
 fected by the perils he underwent, and now and then he 
 seemed to tell her, " Here is your opportunity for aveng- 
 ing your wounded vanity ! Seize upon it ! I should be in 
 despair if I had to resign the feeling of contempt which I 
 have for you." 
 
 Mile, de Verneuil began to scrutinize him from her posi- 
 tion of vantage, with a haughty insolence, which was quite 
 superficial, for at the bottom of her heart she was admiring 
 his tranquil courage. Glad as she was to make the dis- 
 covery of the ancient name that her lover bore (for all 
 women love the privileges which a title confers), she 
 was still further delighted to confront him in his present 
 position. He was the champion of a cause ennobled by its 
 misfortunes ; he was exerting every faculty of a powerful 
 character in a struggle with a Republic that had been so 
 many a time victorious. She saw him now, face to face 
 with imminent danger, displaying the dauntless valor that has 
 such a powerful effect on women's hearts. Over and over 
 again she put him through the ordeal, perhaps in obedience to 
 an instinct which leads womankind to play with a victim, as 
 a cat plays with the mouse that she has caught. 
 
 " What law is your authority for putting Chouans to death? " 
 she asked of Captain Merle. 
 
 " The law of the fourteenth of last Fructidor. The re- 
 volted departments are put outside the civil jurisdiction, and 
 court-martials are established instead," replied the Republican.
 
 A NOTION OF POUCHES. 141 
 
 " To what cause do I owe the honor of your scrutiny of 
 me? " she inquired of the young chief, who was watching her 
 attentively. 
 
 " To a feeling which a gentleman hardly knows how to 
 express in speaking to a woman, whatever she maybe," said 
 the Marquis of Montauran in a low voice, as he leaned over 
 towards her ; then he went on aloud, " We must needs live in 
 such times as these, to see girls in your station do the office 
 of the executioner, and improve upon him in their deft way 
 of playing with the axe " 
 
 Her eyes were set in a stare on Montauran ; then in her 
 exultation at receiving this insult from a man whose life lay 
 between her hands as she spoke, she whispered in his ear with 
 gentle malice as she laughed 
 
 " Your head is so wrong that the executioners will none of 
 it. I shall keep it for my own." 
 
 The bewildered Marquis in his turn gazed at this unaccount- 
 able girl for a moment. The love in her had prevailed over 
 everything else, even over the most scathing insults, and her 
 revenge had taken the form of pardoning an offence which 
 women never forgive. The expression of his eyes grew less 
 cold and hard, a touch of melancholy stole over his features. 
 His passion had a stronger hold upon him than he had 
 recognized. These faint tokens of the reconciliation she 
 looked for satisfied Mile, de Verneuil. She looked tenderly 
 at the chief; the smile she gave him seemed a caress; then 
 she lay back in the coach, unwilling to endanger the future in 
 the drama of her happiness, and in full belief that that smile 
 of hers had once more tightened the knot that bound them. 
 She was so beautiful ! She knew so well how to clear away 
 all obstacles in love's course ! She was so thoroughly accus- 
 tomed to take all things as a pastime, to live as chance deter- 
 mined ! She had such a love of the unforeseen and of the 
 storms of life ! 
 
 Very soon, in obedience to orders from the Marquis, the
 
 142 THE CHOUANS. 
 
 coach left the high road and turned off towards the Vivetiere, 
 along a cross-road in a hollow shut in on either side by high 
 banks, planted with apple trees, which made their way seem 
 more of a ditch than a road, properly speaking. The travelers 
 gradually left the Blues behind them, they reached the manor 
 house; its gray roofs appearing and vanishing alternately 
 through the trees along the way. Several soldiers were left 
 behind, engaged in extricating their shoes from the stiff clay. 
 "This is like the road to Paradise with a vengeance," cried 
 Beau-Pied. 
 
 Thanks to the postilion, who had been there before, it was 
 not very long before Mile, de Verneuil came in sight of the 
 chateau of the Vivetiere. The house lay on the slope of a 
 sort of promontory between two deep ponds which almost 
 surrounded it, so that it was only possible to reach the man- 
 sion by following one narrow causeway. That part of the 
 peninsula on which the house and gardens stood was protected 
 at some distance from the back of the chateau by a wide moat 
 which received all the overflow from the two ponds with 
 which it communicated. In this way an island was formed, 
 which was an almost impregnable retreat, and therefore invalu- 
 able for a party leader, who could only be surprised here by 
 treachery. 
 
 As the gate creaked on its rusty hinges, and she passed 
 under the pointed archway that had been ruined in the pre- 
 vious war, Mile, de Verneuil stretched out her head. The 
 gloomy colors of the picture presented to her gaze all but 
 effaced the thoughts of love and coquetry with which she had 
 been soothing herself. The coach entered a great courtyard, 
 almost square in shape, and bounded by the steep banks of 
 the ponds. These rough embankments were kept dank by 
 the water with its great patches of green weed, and bore such 
 trees as love marshy places, for their sole adornment. They 
 stood leafless now. The stunted trunks and huge heads gray 
 with lichens rose above the reeds and undergrowth like mis-
 
 CAME IN SIGHT OF THE CHATEAU OF THE V1VET1ERE.
 
 A NOTION OF FOUCH&S. 143 
 
 shapen dwarfs. These uncomely hedges seemed to have a 
 sort of life in them, and to find a language when the frogs 
 escaped from them, croaking as they went ; and the water- 
 hens, in alarm at the sounds made by the coach, flew and 
 splashed across the surface of the pools. The courtyard, sur- 
 rounded by tall withered grasses, gorse, dwarf shrubs, and 
 creeping plants, put an end to any preconceived ideas of order 
 or of splendor. 
 
 The chateau itself seemed to have been a long while de- 
 serted. The roofs appeared to bend under an accumulation 
 of vegetable growths ; and although the walls were built very 
 solidly of the schistous stone of the district, there were numer- 
 ous cracks where the ivy had found a hold. The chateau fronted 
 the pond, and consisted of two wings which met at right 
 angles in a high tower, and that was all. The doors and 
 shutters hung loose and rotten ; the balustrades were eaten 
 with rust ; and these, like the crazy windows, looked as if the 
 first breath of a storm would bring them down. A sharp 
 wind whistled through the ruinous place, and in the uncertain 
 moonlight the great house had a spectral appearance and char- 
 acter. The cold grays and blues of the granitic stone, com- 
 bined with the tawny brown and black of the schist, must have 
 been actually seen, before the accuracy of the image called 
 up at first sight by this dark empty carcase of a house can be 
 appreciated. It looked exactly like a skeleton with the fissures 
 in its masonry, its unglazed windows, the embrasures in the 
 battlements of the tower seen against the sky, and the roofs 
 that let the light through ; the birds of prey that flew shriek- 
 ing about it added one more feature to the vague resemblance. 
 A few lofty fir-trees behind the house showed their dark 
 waving foliage above the roofs, and some yew-trees that 
 had once been trimmed as a sort of ornament to the corners, 
 now made for it a setting of dismal festoons like palls at a 
 funeral. 
 
 The shape of the doorways, the clumsiness of the orna-
 
 144 THE CHOUANS. 
 
 ments, the want of symmetry in the construction, and every- 
 thing, in fact, about the mansion, showed that it was one of 
 those feudal manor-houses of which Brittany is proud ; not 
 without reason it may be, for in this Celtic land they form 
 monuments to the nebulous history of a time when as yet the 
 Monarchy was not established. In Mile, de Verneuil's 
 imagination the word " chateau " always called up a conven- 
 tional type, so that she was greatly struck with the funereal 
 aspect of the picture before her. She sprang lightly from the 
 coach, and stood by herself looking about her in dismay, and 
 meditating on the part that she ought to play. 
 
 Francine heard Mme. du Gua give a sigh of joy when she 
 found herself free of the escort of Blues ; and an involuntary 
 exclamation broke from her when the gate was shut, and she 
 found herself within this kind of natural fortress. Montauran 
 had hurried eagerly to Mile, de Verneuil ; he guessed the 
 nature of the thoughts that filled her mind. 
 
 "This chateau," he said, with a shade of melancholy in 
 his voice, "was ruined in the war, just as the plans which I 
 projected for our happiness have been ruined by you." 
 
 " And in what way? " she inquired in utter astonishment. 
 
 "Are you, a beautiful young woman, witty, and nobly 
 born? " he said in caustic tones, repeating for her the words 
 which she had spoken so coquettishly during their conversa- 
 tion by the way. 
 
 " Who has told you otherwise?" 
 
 " Friends of mine, worthy of credence, who are deeply in- 
 terested in my safety, and are on the watch to baffle 
 treachery. ' ' 
 
 "Treachery!" said she, with a satirical look. "Are 
 Alencon and Hulot so far away already ? You have a poor 
 memory, a perilous defect in the leader of a party ! But if 
 friends begin to exert so powerful a sway over your heart," 
 she went on with matchless insolence, " pray keep your 
 friends. There is nothing which can be compared with the
 
 A NOTION OF FOUCHfrS. 145 
 
 pleasures of friendship. Farewell ! for neither I nor the 
 soldiers of the Republic will enter here ! " 
 
 She darted towards the gateway in her wounded pride and 
 scorn, but there was a dignity and a desperation about her 
 flight that wrought a change in the ideas of the Marquis con- 
 cerning her. He could not but be imprudent and credulous, 
 for he could only forego his desires at too great a cost to him- 
 self. He, also, was already in love, so that neither of the 
 lovers had any wish to protract their quarrel. 
 
 "Only a word, and I believe you," he said, with entreaty 
 in his voice. 
 
 "A word!" she answered in an ironical tone, "not so 
 much as a gesture," and her lips were tightly strained to- 
 gether. 
 
 "Scold me at any rate," he entreated, trying to take the 
 hand which she withdrew, " if, indeed, you dare to pout with 
 a rebel chieftain, who is now as sullen and suspicious as he 
 was formerly light-hearted and confiding." 
 
 There was no anger in Marie's look, so the Marquis went 
 on, " You have my secret, and I have not yours." 
 
 A darker shade seemed to cross her alabaster brow at the 
 words. Marie looked angrily at the chief and replied, " My 
 secret ? Never ? ' ' 
 
 Every word, every glance, has at the moment its own elo- 
 quence in love ; but Mile, de Verrieuil's words had conveyed 
 no definite meaning, and for Montauran, clever as he might 
 be, the significance of her exclamation remained undecipher- 
 able. And yet her woman's voice had betrayed an emotion 
 by no means ordinary, which was still in evidence to excite 
 his curiosity. 
 
 " You have a pleasant way of dispelling suspicions," he 
 began. 
 
 " So you still harbor them ? " she inquired, and her eyes 
 scanned him curiously as if to say, " Have you any rights 
 over me? " 
 10
 
 146 THE CHOUANS. 
 
 " Mademoiselle," said the young man, who looked at once 
 submissive and resolute, " the authority you exercise over the 
 Republican troops, and this escort ' 
 
 "Ah, that reminds me? Are we, my escort and I (your 
 protectors as a matter of fact), in security here ? ' ' she asked 
 with a trace of irony. 
 
 " Yes, on my faith as a gentleman ! Whoever you may be, 
 you and yours have nothing to fear in my house." 
 
 The impulse that prompted this pledge was evidently so 
 generous and so staunch that Mile, de Verneuil could not but 
 feel absolutely at rest as to the fate of the Republicans. She 
 was about to speak, when Mme. du Gua's presence imposed 
 silence upon her. Mme. du Gua had either overheard the 
 conversation of the two lovers, or she had partly guessed at it, 
 and it was in consequence no ordinary anxiety that she felt 
 when she saw them in a position which no longer implied the 
 slightest unfriendliness. At sight of her, the Marquis offered 
 his hand to Mile, de Verneuil, and went quickly towards the 
 house, as if to rid himself of an intrusive companion. 
 
 " I am in the way," said the stranger lady to herself, with- 
 out moving from the place where she stood. She watched 
 the two reconciled lovers, moving slowly now, on their way 
 to the entrance flight of steps, where they came to a stand 
 that they might talk, so soon as they had put a distance be- 
 tween themselves and her. 
 
 "Yes, yes, I am in their way ! " she went on, speaking to 
 herself; " but in a little while the creature yonder will not be 
 in my way any longer ; the pond, pardieu .' shall be her grave. 
 I shall not violate your " faith as a gentleman." Once under 
 that water, what is there to fear ? Will she not be safe down 
 below there?" 
 
 She was staring at the calm mirror-like surface of the little 
 lake to the right of the courtyard, when she heard a rustling 
 sound among the briars on the embankment, and by the light 
 of the moon she saw Marche-a-Terre's face rise up above the
 
 A NOTION OF FOUCH&S. 147 
 
 knotty trunk of an old willow-tree. One had to know the 
 Chouan well to make him out among the confusion of pollard 
 trunks, for one of which he might readily be taken. First 
 of all, Mme. du Gua looked suspiciously round about her. 
 She saw the postilion leading the horses round into a stable, 
 situated in that wing of the chateau which fronted the bank 
 where Marche-a-Terre was hiding ; she watched Francine go 
 towards the two lovers, who had forgotten everything else on 
 earth just then ; and she came forward with a finger on her 
 lips to enjoin absolute silence, so that the Chouan rather 
 understood than heard the words that followed next, " How 
 many are there of you here ? " 
 
 "Eighty-seven." 
 
 " They are only sixty-five, for I counted them." 
 
 "Good," the savage answered with cruel satisfaction. 
 Heedful of Francine's slightest movement, the Chouan van- 
 ished into the hollow willow trunk, as he saw her return to 
 keep a lookout for a woman whom her instinct told her to 
 watch as an enemy. 
 
 Seven or eight people appeared at the top of the steps, 
 brought out by the sounds of the arrival of the coach. 
 
 "It is the Gars!" they exclaimed. "It is he; here he 
 is!" 
 
 Others came running up at their exclamations, and the talk 
 between the two lovers was interrupted by their presence. 
 The Marquis of Montauran made a rush towards these gentle- 
 men, called for silence with an imperative gesture, and made 
 them look at the top of the avenue through which the Repub- 
 lican soldiers were defiling. At the sight of the familiar blue 
 uniform turned up with red, and the gleaming bayonets, the 
 astonished conspirators exclaimed 
 
 " Can you have come back to betray us ? " 
 
 "I should not warn you of the peril if I had," said the 
 Marquis, smiling bitterly. "Those Blues," he went on after 
 a pause, " are this young lady's escort. Her generosity
 
 148 THE CHOUANS. 
 
 rescued us, by a miracle, from a danger which all but over- 
 whelmed us in an inn in Alengon. We will give you the 
 history of the adventure. Mademoiselle and her escort are 
 here on my parole, and must be welcomed as friends." 
 
 Mme. du Gua and Francine having come as far as the flight 
 of steps, the Marquis gallantly presented his hand to Mile, de 
 Verneuil, the group of gentlemen fell back into two rows in 
 order to let them pass, and every one tried to discern the 
 features of the newcomer, for Mme. du Gua had already 
 stimulated their curiosity by making several furtive signs to 
 them. 
 
 In the first room Mme. de Verneuil saw a large table hand- 
 somely furnished and set for a score of guests. The dining- 
 room opened into a vast saloon, where the company were very 
 soon assembled together. Both apartments were in keeping 
 with the appearance of dilapidation about the exterior of the 
 chateau. The wainscot was of polished walnut, ill carved 
 with poor and rough designs in bold relief; but it was split 
 by great cracks, and seemed ready to fall to pieces. The dark 
 color of the wood seemed to make the mirrorless and curtain- 
 less rooms more dismal yet; and the antiquated and crazy 
 furniture matched the ruinous aspect of everything else. 
 Marie noticed maps and plans lying out unrolled upon a great 
 table, and a stack of weapons and rifles in a corner of the room. 
 Everything spoke of an important conference among the 
 Vendean and Chouan chiefs. The Marquis led Mile, de 
 Verneuil to an enormous worm-eaten armchair which stood 
 beside the hearth, and Francine took up her position behind 
 her mistress, leaning upon the back of the venerable piece of 
 furniture. 
 
 "You will give me leave to do my duty as host for a 
 moment? " said the Marquis, as he left the two newcomers to 
 mingle with the groups his guests had formed. 
 
 Francine saw how at a word or two from Montauran, the 
 chiefs hastily concealed their weapons and maps and anything
 
 A NOTION OF FOUCHE'S. 149 
 
 else which could arouse the suspicions of the Republican 
 officers. One or two of the chiefs divested themselves of 
 wide leather belts, furnished with hunting-knives and pistols. 
 The Marquis recommended the greatest discretion, and left the 
 room, apologizing for the absence necessary to provide for the 
 reception of the inconvenient guests which chance had thrust 
 upon him. Mile, de Verneuil, who was trying to warm her feet 
 at the fire, had allowed Montauran to leave her, without turn- 
 ing her head ; and thus disappointed the expectations of the 
 onlookers, who were all anxious to see her face. Francine was 
 the sole witness of the change wrought among those assembled 
 by the young chiefs departure. The gentlemen gathered round 
 the stranger lady, and during the murmured conversation 
 which was carried on among them, there was no one present 
 who did not look again and again at the two strangers. 
 
 "You know Montauran!" she said. "He fell in love 
 with this girl at first sight, and you can easily understand that 
 the soundest advice was suspicious to him when it came from 
 my mouth. Our friends in Paris, and Messieurs de Valois 
 and d'Esgrignon at Alen9on, one and all warned him of the 
 trap they want to set for him, by flinging some hussy at his 
 head, and he is bewitched with the first one he comes across; 
 a girl who, if all I can learn about her is correct, has taken a 
 noble name, only to tarnish it, who " and so on, and so on. 
 
 This lady, in whom the woman that decided the attack on 
 the turgotine can be recognized, will keep throughout this 
 story the name which enabled her to escape in the perils of 
 her journey through Alencon. The publication of her real 
 name could only displease a noble family, who have suffered 
 deeply already from the errors of this young person, whose 
 fortunes have, moreover, been taken for the subject of another 
 drama. 
 
 Very soon the attitude of the company changed, and 
 simple curiosity grew to be impertinent, and almost hostile. 
 Two or three rather harsh epithets reached Francine's ears,
 
 150 THE CHOUANS. 
 
 who spoke a word to her mistress, and took refuge in the 
 embrasure of a window. Marie rose, and turned her glances 
 filled with dignity, and even with scorn, upon the insolent 
 group. Her beauty, and her pride and the refinement of her 
 manner, worked a sudden change in the attitude of her 
 enemies, and called forth an involuntary flattering murmur 
 from them. Two or three men among them, whose exterior 
 polish and habits of gallantry revealed that they had been 
 acquired in the lofty spheres of courts, came up to Marie in a 
 free and easy manner ; her modest reserve compelled their re- 
 spect, none of them dared to address a word to her, and, so 
 far from being accused by them, it was she who seemed to sit 
 in judgment upon them. 
 
 The chiefs in this war undertaken for God and the King 
 bore very little resemblance to the fancy portraits which she 
 had been pleased to draw of them. The real grandeur of the 
 struggle was diminished for her ; it shrank into mean dimen- 
 sions when she saw (two or three energetic faces excepted) the 
 country gentlemen about her, every one of them entirely de- 
 void of character and vigor. Marie came down all at once 
 from poetry to prose. At first sight these faces seemed to 
 manifest a craving for intrigue rather than a love of glory ; it 
 was really self-interest that had set each man's hand to his 
 sword; so if they grew heroic figures in the field, here they 
 appeared as they actually were. The loss of her illusions 
 made Mile, de Verneuil unjust, and prevented her from rec- 
 ognizing the real devotion that distinguished several of these 
 men. But most of them, for all that, were of a commonplace 
 turn. If a few faces among them were marked out by a 
 character of their own, it was spoiled by a certain pettiness 
 due to aristocratic etiquette and convention. So if Marie's 
 generosity allowed them to be astute and shrewd, she found 
 no trace among them of the simpler and larger way of look- 
 ing at things, which the men and the successes of the Republic 
 had always led her to expect.
 
 A NOTION OF FOUCH&S. 151 
 
 This nocturnal confabulation in the old ruined stronghold, 
 beneath the quaintly-carved beams that were no ill match for 
 the faces below, made her smile ; she was inclined to see it all 
 as a typical presentation of the Monarchy. Then she thought 
 with delight that at any rate the Marquis took the first place 
 among these men, whose sole merit in her eyes lay in their de- 
 votion to a lost cause. She drew the outlines of her lover's 
 face upon that background of figures, and pleased herself with 
 the way in which he stood out against it ; all these meagre 
 and thin personalities were but tools in his hands, wherewith 
 to carry out his own noble purposes. 
 
 Just then the returning footsteps of the Marquis sounded 
 from the next room ; the conspirators broke up into knots at 
 once, and there was an end to the whisperings. They looked 
 like school-boys who have been up to some mischief in their 
 master's absence, hurriedly restoring an appearance of order 
 and silence. Montauran came in. The happiness of admir- 
 ing him, of seeing him take the first place among these folk, 
 the youngest and handsomest man among them, fell to Marie. 
 He went from group to group, like a king among his courtiers, 
 distributing slight nods, handshakes, glances, and words that 
 indicated a good understanding or a tinge of reproach ; play- 
 ing his part as a partisan leader with a grace and self-posses- 
 sion which could hardly have been looked for in a young man 
 whom she had set down at first as a feather-brain. The pres- 
 ence of the Marquis had put a stop to their inquisitive demon- 
 strations with regard to Mile, de Verneuil, but Mme. du 
 Gua's spitefulness soon showed its effects. The Baron du 
 Guenic, nicknamed t 'Intitne, who, among all these men thus 
 brought together by weighty considerations, seemed best enti- 
 tled by his name and rank to speak on familiar terms with 
 Montauran, laid a hand on his arm, and drew him into a 
 corner, 
 
 " Listen, my dear Marquis," he said ; " we are all sorry to 
 see you about to commit a flagrant piece of folly."
 
 152 THE CHOUANS. 
 
 " What do you mean by that remark ? " 
 
 " Who can tell where this girl comes from, what she really 
 is, and what her designs upon you may be ? " 
 
 " Between ourselves, my dear 1'Intime, my fancy will have 
 passed off by to-morrow morning." 
 
 " Just so ; but how if the gipsy betrays you before the 
 morning ? ' ' 
 
 " I will answer you that when you tell me why she has not 
 already done so," answered Montauran jestingly, assuming an 
 air of exceeding self-complacency. 
 
 " If she has taken a liking to you, she would have no mind 
 perhaps to betray you till her fancy too had passed off. 
 
 "Just take a look at that charming girl, my dear fellow; 
 notice her manners, and dare to tell me that she is not a 
 woman of good birth ! If she sent a favorable glance in 
 your direction, would you not feel, in the depths of you, 
 some sort of respect for her? A certain lady has prejudiced 
 you against her, but after what we have just said to each other, 
 if she was one of those abandoned women that our friends 
 have spoken about, I would kill her." 
 
 " You do not suppose that Fouche would be fool enough to 
 pick up a girl from a street corner to send after you ? " Mme. 
 du Gua broke in. " He has sent some one likely to attract a 
 man of your calibre. But if you are blind, your friends 
 will have their eyes open to watch over you." 
 
 "Madame," answered the Gars, darting angry glances at 
 her," take care to make no attempt against this person or her 
 escort, or nothing shall save you from my vengeance. It is 
 my wish that mademoiselle should be treated with the greatest 
 respect, and as a woman who is under my protection. We are 
 connected, I believe, with the family of Verneuil." 
 
 The opposition which the Marquis encountered produced 
 the effects that hindrances of this sort usually cause in young 
 people. Lightly as he apparently held Mile, de Verneuil 
 when he gave the impression that his infatuation for her was
 
 A NOTION Of FOUCH&S. 153 
 
 only a whim, his feeling of personal pride had forced him to 
 take a considerable step. By openly acknowledging her, it 
 became a question of his own honor to make others respect 
 her, so he went from group to group assuring every one that 
 the stranger really was Mme. de Verneuil, with the air of a 
 man whom it would be dangerous to contradict ; and all the 
 murmurs were silenced. 
 
 As soon as harmony was to some extent re-established in 
 the salon, and his duties as host detained him no longer, 
 Montauran eagerly returned to his guest, and said in a low 
 voice, " Those people yonder have robbed me of a moment 
 of happiness." 
 
 "I am very glad to have you beside me," she answered, 
 smiling. "I give you fair warning; I am inquisitive, so 
 do not grow tired of my questions too soon. First of all, tell 
 me who that worthy person is in the green waistcoat." 
 
 " He is the celebrated Major Brigaut from the Marais, a 
 comrade of the late Mercier, otherwise called La Vendee." 
 
 " And who is the stout churchman with the florid counte- 
 nance, with whom he is now discussing me?" went on Mile, 
 de Verneuil. 
 
 " Do you want to know what they are saying about you? " 
 
 " Do I want to know ? Can you doubt it ? " 
 
 "But I could not tell you without insulting you." 
 " The moment that you allow me to be insulted without 
 wreaking vengeance for any affront put upon me in your 
 house, I bid you farewell, Marquis. Not a moment longer 
 will I stay. I have felt some pangs of conscience already at 
 deceiving those poor trusting and trusty Republicans." She 
 took several paces, but the Marquis went after her. 
 
 " My dear Marie, hear me. Upon my honor, I have silenced 
 their scandalous talk before I know whether it is false or true. 
 But our friends among the ministers in Paris have sent warn- 
 ing to me to mistrust every sort of woman that comes in my 
 way ; telling me that Fouche has made up his mind to make
 
 154 THE CHOUANS. 
 
 use of some Judith out of the streets against me ; and in my 
 situation, it is very natural that my best friends should think 
 that you are too handsome to be an honest woman ' ' 
 
 The Marquis looked straight into the depths of Mile, de 
 Verneuil's eyes ; her color rose, she could not keep back the 
 tears. 
 
 "Oh, I have deserved these insults," she cried. " I would 
 fain see you convinced that I am a despicable creature, and 
 yet know myself beloved then I should doubt you no longer. 
 I believed in you when you deceived me, but you have no 
 belief in me when I am sincere. There, that is enough, sir ! " 
 she said, knitting her brows, and growing white, like a woman 
 about to die. " Farewell." She fled into the dining-room 
 with a desperate impulse. 
 
 "Marie, my life is yours," said the young Marquis in her 
 ear. She stopped and looked at him. 
 
 "No, no," she said; "I will be generous. Farewell. 
 When I followed you hither, I was mad ; I was thinking 
 neither of my own past nor of your future." 
 
 " What ! you leave me at the moment when I lay my life at 
 your feet " 
 
 "It is offered in a moment of passion, of desire 
 
 "It is offered without regret and forever," said he. She 
 came back again, and to hide his emotion the Marquis resumed 
 their conversation 
 
 " That stout man whose name you asked for is a formidable 
 person. He is the Abbe Gudin, one of those Jesuits who are 
 obstinate enough, or may be devoted enough, to stop in France 
 in the teeth of the edict of 1763, which drove them into exile. 
 He is the firebrand of war in these parts, and a propagandist 
 of the religious confraternity named after the Sacred Heart. 
 He makes use of religion as a means towards his ends, so he 
 persuades his proselytes that they will come to life again, and 
 he understands how to sustain their fanaticism by dexterously 
 contrived prophecy. You see how it is : one must seek to
 
 A NOTION OF FOUCHE'S. 155 
 
 gain over every one through his private interests, in order to 
 reach a great end. That is the whole secret of policy." 
 
 " And that muscular person in a vigorous old age, with such 
 a repulsive face ? There, look ! the man who is wearing a 
 ragged lawyer's gown." 
 
 ' ' Lawyer ! He aspires to the title of marechal de camp. 
 Have you never heard them speak of Longuy?" 
 
 "Is that he?" said Mile, de Verneuil, startled. "And 
 you make use of such men as he?" 
 
 " Hush ! he might overhear you. Do you see that other 
 man in unhallowed converse with Mme. du Gua?" 
 
 " The man in black who looks like a judge ? " 
 
 " He is one of our diplomatists, La Billardiere, the son of a 
 counsellor in the Parliament of Brittany ; his name is Flamet, 
 or something like it ; but he is in the confidence of the 
 princes." 
 
 "Then there is his neighbor, who is clutching his white 
 clay pipe at this moment, and leaning the fingers of his right 
 hand against the panel of the wainscot, like a boor?" said 
 Mile, de Verneuil, laughing. 
 
 "Pardieu ! your guess about him is correct. He was for- 
 merly gamekeeper to that lady's husband, now deceased. He 
 is in command of one of the companies, which I am opposing 
 to the mobile battalions. He and Marche-a-Terre are perhaps 
 the most scrupulously loyal servants that the King has here- 
 abouts. ' ' 
 
 "But who is she?" 
 
 "She was Charette's last mistress," the Marquis replied. 
 " She has a great influence over everybody here." 
 
 " Has she remained faithful to his memory? " All the an- 
 swer vouchsafed by the Marquis was a dubious kind of com- 
 pression of the lips. 
 
 "Have you a good opinion of her?" 
 
 " Really ; you are very inquisitive ! " 
 
 " She is my enemy because she can be my rival no longer,"
 
 156 THE CHOUANS. 
 
 said Mile, de Verneuil, laughing. " I forgive her her past 
 errors, so let her forgive mine. Who is that officer with the 
 moustaches ? " 
 
 " Permit me to leave his name unmentioned. He is deter- 
 mined to rid us of the First Consul by attacking him sword 
 in hand. Whether he succeeds or no, you will hear of him ; 
 he will become famous." 
 
 " And you have come here to command such men as these ?" 
 she said, aghast, " and these are the King's champions? Where 
 are the great lords and the gentlemen?" 
 
 "Why, they are scattered throughout every court in Eu- 
 rope!" said the Marquis scornfully. "Who but they are 
 enlisting kings with their armies and their cabinets in the ser- 
 vice of the House of Bourbon, to hurl them all upon this 
 Republic, which is threatening monarchy and social order 
 everywhere with utter destruction ! " 
 
 "Ah ! " she answered him, stirred by an enthusiastic im- 
 pulse, " from this time forward be for me the pure source 
 whence I shall draw all the rest of the ideas that I must learn ; 
 I am willing that it should be so. But leave me the thought 
 that you are the one noble who does his duty in attacking 
 France with Frenchmen and not with foreign auxiliaries. I 
 am a woman, and I feel that if my own child were to strike 
 me in anger, I could forgive him ; but if he could see me 
 torn in pieces by a stranger, I should consider him a mon- 
 ster." 
 
 "You will always be a Republican !" said the Marquis, 
 overcome by a delightful intoxication ; the strong feeling in 
 her tones had strengthened his confident hopes. 
 
 " A Republican ? No ; I am that no longer. I should not 
 respect you if you were to make your submission to the First 
 Consul," she replied. "But neither should I be willing to 
 see you at the head of the men who are plundering a corner 
 of France, when they should be attacking the Republic in 
 form. For whom are you fighting? What do you look for
 
 A NOTION OF FOUCH&S. 157 
 
 from a king restored to the throne by your hands ? A woman 
 once before achieved this glorious master-stroke, and the King 
 whom she delivered let them burn her alive. Such as he are 
 the anointed of the Lord, and it is perilous to touch hallowed 
 things. Leave it to God alone to set them up, to take them 
 down, or to replace them on their dais among the purple. If 
 you have weighed the reward that will be meted out to you, 
 then in my eyes you are ten times greater than I have ever 
 thought you. If that is so, trample me beneath your feet if 
 you will ; I would give you leave to do so, and be glad ! " 
 
 " You are enchanting ! But do not try to urge your doc- 
 trine on these gentlemen, or I shall be left without soldiers." 
 
 " Ah ! if you would let me convert you, we would go a 
 thousand leagues away from here." 
 
 " These men, whom you appear to despise, will know how 
 to die in the struggle," said the Marquis in a more serious 
 tone; "and all their faults will be forgotten then. Besides, 
 if my efforts are crowned with any success, will not the laurels 
 of victory hide everything ? " 
 
 "You are the only one present who has anything to lose, 
 as far as I can see." 
 
 "I am not the only one," he replied with real humility. 
 " There are those two Vendean chiefs over there. The first 
 one, whom you have heard spoken of as the Grande- Jacques, 
 is the Comte de Fontaine, and the other La Billardiere, whom 
 I have already pointed out to you." 
 
 " Do you forget Quiberon, where La Billardiere played a 
 very strange part ? " she answered, struck by a sudden thought 
 of the past. 
 
 "La Billardiere has undertaken heavy responsibilities, 
 believe me. Those who serve the princes do not lie upon 
 roses." 
 
 " You make me shudder ! " cried Marie ; then she went on 
 in a tone which indicated that she was keeping in the back- 
 ground some mystery that concerned him personally. "A
 
 158 THE CHOUANS. 
 
 single moment is enough for the destruction of an illusion, 
 and to reveal secrets on which the lives and happiness of 
 many men depend." She paused as if she were afraid of 
 having said too much, and added, "I should like to know 
 that the soldiers of the Republic are in safety." 
 
 "I will be very careful," he said, smiling to conceal his 
 agitation; "but say no more about your soldiers, I have 
 answered for them to you on the faith of a gentleman." 
 
 " And, after all, what right had I to dictate to you? " she 
 resumed. " You are to be the master always when it lies 
 between us two. Did I not tell you that I should be in 
 despair to reign over a slave ? ' ' 
 
 " My Lord Marquis," said Major Brigaut respectfully, 
 interrupting the conversation, " will the Blues remain here 
 for some time? " 
 
 " They will go on again as soon as they are rested," Marie 
 cried. 
 
 The Marquis sent searching glances round the company, 
 observed the excitement among them, went from Mile, de 
 Verneuil, and left Mme. du Gua to take his place at her side. 
 The young chief's sarcastic smile did not disturb the treacher- 
 ous mask of good humor upon her features. Just as she came, 
 Francine uttered a cry which she herself promptly stifled. 
 Mile, de Verneuil beheld with astonishment her faith- 
 ful country-girl dash into the dining-room. She looked at 
 Mme. du Gua, and her surprise increased when she saw the 
 pallor that overspread the face of her enemy. Curious to 
 learn the reason of this hasty flight, she turned towards the 
 embrasure of the window, followed thither by her rival, who 
 wished to lull any suspicions which an indiscretion might 
 have awakened, and who smiled upon her with indescribable 
 spitefulness as they returned together to the hearth after both 
 had glanced over the landscape and the lake. Marie had 
 seen nothing which justified Francine's departure, and Mme. 
 du Gua was satisfied that she was being obeyed.
 
 A NOTION OF FOUCH&S. 159 
 
 The lake, from the brink of which Marche-a-Terre had 
 appeared in the courtyard when the lady called him forth, 
 went to join the moat that surrounded and protected the gar- 
 dens, forming winding stretches of water with mist above it, 
 sometimes as wide as a lake, sometimes as narrow as the orna- 
 mental streams contrived in parks. The steep sloping banks, 
 past which the clear water was rippling, ran but a few fathoms 
 distant from the windows. Francinc had been engaged in 
 musing on the black outlines of several old willow stumps 
 against the surface of the water, and in noticing with indiffer- 
 ent eyes the uniform curve that a light breeze was giving to 
 the willow branches. Suddenly, she thought she saw one of 
 these shapes moving, on the mirror of the water, in the spon- 
 taneous and uneven fashion by which some living thing is 
 revealed. The shape, howsoever dim it was, seemed to be 
 that of a man. 
 
 At first Francine gave the credit of her vision to the broken 
 outlines produced by the moonlight falling through the leaves ; 
 but very soon a second head appeared, and yet others showed 
 themselves in the distance. The low shrubs along the bank 
 swayed violently up and down, till Francine saw along the 
 whole length of hedge a gradual motion like that of a huge 
 Indian serpent of fabulous proportions. Here and there 
 among the tufts of broom and the brambles points of light 
 gleamed and danced. Redoubling her attention, Marche-a- 
 Terre's sweetheart thought that she recognized the first of the 
 black forms that moved along the quivering growth on the 
 bank. However vague the outlines of the man, the beating 
 of her heart convinced her that in him she saw Marche-a- 
 Terre. 
 
 A gesture made it clear to her. Impatient to learn if some 
 treachery or other were not lurking behind this mysterious 
 proceeding, she rushed in the direction of the court. When 
 she came into the middle of the green space, she looked from 
 the two wings of the house to the banks on either side, with-
 
 160 THE CHOUANS. 
 
 out discerning any trace whatever of a furtive movement on 
 the side which faced the inhabited wing. A faint rustling 
 sound reached her; as she lent an attentive ear to it, it 
 sounded like a noise made by some wild creature in the silence 
 of the forests; she shuddered, but she did not tremble. 
 Young and innocent as she yet was, her curiosity swiftly 
 prompted a stratagem. She saw the coach, and ran to crouch 
 within it ; only raising her head, with all the caution of a hare 
 that has the sound of the far-off hunt ringing in her ears. She 
 saw Pille-Miche come out of the stable. There were two peasants 
 with the Chouan, and all three were carrying trusses of straw. 
 These they spread out so as to form a long sort of shake-down 
 in front of the inhabited pile of buildings that ran parallel 
 with the embankment where the stunted trees were growing. 
 The Chouans were still marching there with a noiselessness 
 which revealed the fact that some horrible plot was being 
 prepared. 
 
 " You are giving them straw as if they really were to sleep 
 there. That's enough ! Pille-Miche, that's enough ! " mut- 
 tered a hoarse voice which Francine recognized. 
 
 "And aren't they going to sleep there?" retorted Pille- 
 Miche, with a stupid horse-laugh. " But are you not afraid 
 that the Gars will be angry?" he went on in a voice so low 
 that Francine caught nothing of it. 
 
 "Oh, well, he will be angry," Marche-a-Terre replied, in 
 rather louder tones; "but all the same, we shall have killed 
 the Blues. There is a carriage here," he went on; "we 
 must put that away." 
 
 Pille-Miche drew the coach by the pole, and Marche-a- 
 Terre gave such a vigorous push to one of the wheels, that 
 Francine found herself inside the barn, and just about to be 
 locked up in it, before she could think over her situation. 
 Pille-Miche went to help to fetch the hogshead of cider which 
 was to be served out to the soldiers of the escort by the orders 
 of the Marquis. Marche-a-Terre walked the length of the
 
 A NOTION OF FOUCHE'S. 161 
 
 coach on his way out to shut the door, when he felt a hand 
 that stopped him by a clutch at the long hair of his goatskin. 
 He recognized the eyes whose sweetness exercised a power 
 over him like magnetism, and stood still for a moment as if 
 spellbound. Francine sprang hastily out of the coach, and 
 spoke in the aggressive tone that is so wonderfully becoming 
 to a woman in vexation 
 
 " Pierre, what news did you bring, as we came, to that lady 
 and her son ? What are they doing here ? Why are you hid- 
 ing yourself? I want to know everything?" 
 
 Her words brought an expression into the Chouan's face 
 which Francine had never yet known there. The Breton 
 drew his innocent mistress to the threshold of the door ; he 
 turned her so that the white rays of the moonlight fell upon 
 her, and made his answer, gazing at her the while with ter- 
 rible eyes 
 
 " Yes, by my damnation ! Francine, I will tell you, but 
 only when you have sworn to me on this rosary" and he 
 drew out a worn string of beads from under his goatskin 
 "swear upon this relic that you know," he went on, "to 
 answer me truly one single question." 
 
 Francine blushed as she looked at the rosary ; some lover's 
 keepsake between them doubtless. 
 
 " It was on this," the Chouan went on, shaken with emo- 
 tion, "that you swore " 
 
 He did not finish, for the peasant-girl laid her hand on the 
 lips of her wild lover to enjoin silence upon him. 
 
 " Is there any need for me to swear? "asked she. 
 
 He took Francine gently by the hand, looked at her for 
 a moment, and went on, " Is the young lady whom you serve 
 really Mile, de Verneuil ? " 
 
 Francine stood motionless with her arms at her sides, with 
 bowed head and drooping eyelids, pale and confused. 
 
 " She is a baggage ! " Marche-a-Terre went on in a terrible 
 voice. 
 11
 
 162 THE CHOUANS. 
 
 The pretty hand tried once more to cover his lips at that 
 word, but this time he recoiled from her in fury. The little 
 Breton maid no longer saw her lover before her, but a wild 
 beast in all his natural ferocity. His brows were drawn into 
 a heavy scowl ; his lips curled back in a snarl that showed his 
 teeth ; he looked like a dog defending his master. 
 
 " I left you a flower, and I find you garbage ! Ah ! why 
 did I leave you? You are come here to betray us, to deliver 
 up the Gars!" 
 
 These phrases were roared rather than articulated. Terri- 
 fied as Francine was, she dared to look this savage in the face 
 at this last reproach, raised her eyes like an angel's to his, 
 and answered quietly 
 
 " That is false ; I will stake my salvation on it. These are 
 some of your lady's notions." 
 
 He lowered his head in his turn. She took his hand, came 
 close to him caressingly, and said, " Pierre, why are we going 
 on like this? Listen, I do not know if you yourself under- 
 stand something of all this, for I can make nothing of it. 
 But remember that this beautiful and noble young lady is my 
 benefactress, and yours too we live together almost like 
 sisters. No harm of any sort ought to come to her so long as 
 we are with her not while we are both alive, at any rate. 
 So swear to me that this shall be so, for you are the only 
 person here whom I can trust." 
 
 " I am not the master here," the Chouan replied in a sullen 
 tone. His face grew dark. She took his great hanging ears 
 and gently twisted them as if she were caressing a cat. 
 
 " Well, then, promise me to use all, the power you have to 
 ensure the safety of our benefactress," she continued, seeing 
 that he relented somewhat. He shook his head as if dubious 
 of his success, a gesture that made the Breton girl shudder. 
 The escort arrived on the causeway at this critical moment. 
 The tramp of the men, and the clanking of their weapons,
 
 A NOTION OF FOUCH&S. 163 
 
 woke the echoes of the courtyard, and apparently put an end 
 to Marche-a-Terre's hesitation. 
 
 "Perhaps I shall succeed in saving her," said he to Fran- 
 cine, " if you can keep her in the house. And whatever may 
 happen," he added, "stay there with her and keep the most 
 absolute secrecy. Without that I will engage for nothing." 
 
 "I promise," she answered in her terror. 
 
 " Very well ; go in. In with you at once ! And let no 
 one see that you are frightened not even your mistress." 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 The Chouan looked at her in a fatherly way. She pressed 
 his hand and fled with the swiftness of a bird towards the 
 flight of steps ; while he slipped into the hedge he had left, 
 like an actor who rushes to the wings as the curtain rises 
 on a tragedy. 
 
 " Do you know, Merle, this place looks to me like a reg- 
 ular mouse-trap," said Gerard, as they reached the chateau. 
 
 "Yes, I see that perfectly well," the captain answered 
 thoughtfully. Both officers hastened to post sentinels so as 
 to secure the causeway and the gate ; then they cast sus- 
 picious glances over the embankments and the lay of the. 
 land about them. 
 
 "Pshaw!" said Merle; "we must either frankly trust 
 ourselves in these barracks, or keep out of them altogether." 
 
 "Let us go in," answered Gerard. 
 
 Released from duty by a word from their commander, 
 the soldiers quickly stacked their guns in conical piles, and 
 pitched their colors in front of the litter of straw, with the 
 cask of cider standing in the centre of it. They broke up 
 into groups, and a couple of peasants began to serve out rye- 
 bread and butter to them. The Marquis came forward and 
 took the two officers into the salon. As Gerard reached the 
 top of the flight of steps, he took a look at the two wings of 
 the house where the aged larches were spreading their black 
 branches, and called Beau-Pied and Clef-des-Cceurs to him.
 
 164 THE CHOUANS. 
 
 " Both of you go and reconnoitre the gardens and search 
 the hedges. Do you understand ? And then post a sentinel 
 in front of your line of defence." 
 
 " May we light a fire before we set out on our prowl, adju- 
 tant?" said Clef-des-Cceurs. 
 
 Gerard nodded. 
 
 "You see it for yourself, Clef-des-Coeurs," said Beau-Pied; 
 " the adjutant made a mistake in poking himself into this 
 hornet's nest. If Hulot had been commanding us, he would 
 never have run us into this corner ; it is as if we were in the 
 bottom of a pot here." 
 
 "What an ass you are!" exclaimed Clef-des-Coeurs. 
 "You, the king of sharp fellows, can't guess that this sentry- 
 box of a chateau belongs to the amiable individual for whom 
 our gay Merle, the most accomplished of captains, is tuning 
 his pipe. He is going to marry her, that is as easy to see as a 
 well-polished bayonet ; and such a woman as that will be a 
 credit to the demi -brigade." 
 
 " True," answered Beau-Pied, "and you might add that 
 there is good cider here, but I can't drink it with any relish 
 in front of those beastly hedges. I seem to see Larose and 
 Vieux-Chapeau coming to grief in the ditch up yonder on La 
 Pelerine. I shall never forget poor old Larose's queue as long 
 as I live ; it bobbed up and down, like a knocker on a front 
 door." 
 
 " Beau-Pied, my friend, you have too much imagination 
 for a soldier. You ought to make poetry at the National 
 Institute." 
 
 " If I have too much imagination," Beau-Pied answered, 
 " you yourself have hardly any. It will be a good while 
 before you come to be consul." And the witty Beau-Pied 
 felt that he had the best of his comrade. 
 
 The laughter of the troop put an end to the dispute, as 
 Clef-des-Cceurs found no answering shaft for his adversary in 
 his quiver.
 
 A NOTION OF FOUCH&S. 165 
 
 " Are you ready to make your round ? I myself am going 
 to take to the right," said Beau-Pied. 
 
 " All right; I will take the left," his comrade answered. 
 " But hold on a moment ! I want to drink a glass of cider ; 
 my throat is all glued together like the sticking-plaster that 
 covered Hulot's best hat." 
 
 Unluckily, the perilous embankment, where Francine had 
 seen the men moving, lay on the left-hand side of the gardens, 
 which Clef-des-Cceurs was neglecting to beat up at once. 
 War is altogether a game of chance. 
 
 As Gerard entered the salon and saluted the company, he 
 gave a searching look around at the men of whom it was com- 
 posed. His suspicions recurred to his mind in greater force. 
 He went suddenly up to Mile, de Verneuil and spoke to her 
 in a low voice, " I think you ought to make a retreat at once; 
 we are not safe here." 
 
 "Can you fear anything in my house?" she asked, laugh- 
 ing. " You are safer here than you would be in Mayenne." 
 
 A woman always answers unhesitatingly for her lover. The 
 two officers were less uneasy ; and just then, in spite of some 
 unimportant remarks about an absent guest whose consequence 
 was sufficient to keep them waiting for him, the company 
 went into the dining-room. Thanks to the usual silence 
 which prevails at the beginning of a meal, Mile, de Verneuil 
 could pay some attention to this meeting, so strange under 
 the present circumstances. She herself had in a manner been 
 the cause of it. It had come about through the ignorance 
 which women who treat everything according to their own 
 caprice are wont to bring to the most critical actions in life. 
 One fact suddenly struck her with surprise. The two Repub- 
 lican officers towered above the others by the impressive char- 
 acter of their features. Their long hair was drawn away from 
 the temples and gathered at the nape of the neck into a huge 
 plaited tail, leaving the outlines of their foreheads clearly 
 defined in a way that gives an appearance of sincerity and
 
 J66 THE CHOUANS. 
 
 dignity to a young face. Their threadbare blue uniforms, 
 with the worn red facings. Their epaulettes flung behind 
 their shoulders in many a march (plainly showing a lack of 
 greatcoats throughout the army, even among the officers them- 
 selves) ; everything about them, in fact, brought out the 
 strong contrast between these two military men and the others 
 who surrounded them. 
 
 "Ah," she said to herself, " this is the nation; this is lib- 
 erty!" Then she glanced round the Royalists, " and there 
 is the one man, a king and privilege ! " she said. 
 
 She could not help admiring Merle's face; the gallant sol- 
 dier so completely resembled the typical French trooper, who 
 can whistle an air as the bullets fall thick about him, and who 
 cannot forego a gibe at a comrade who meets with an awk- 
 ward accident. Gerard was impressive. In his sternness and 
 self-possession he seemed to be one of those Republicans from 
 conviction, who were to be met with in such numbers at this 
 time in the French armies an element of noble unobtrusive 
 devotion, that lent to them an energy never known before. 
 
 " There is another of these men with a large outlook," said 
 Mile, de Verneuil to herself. " They are the masters of the 
 present on which they take their stand ; they are shattering 
 the past, but it is for the benefit of the future." 
 
 The thought made her melancholy, because it had no bear- 
 ing upon her lover. She turned toward him, that a different 
 feeling of admiration might make reparation for her tribute 
 to that Republic which she already began to hate. She saw 
 the Marquis surrounded by men fanatical and daring enough, 
 and sufficiently keen speculators to attack a triumphant Re- 
 public in the hope of reinstating a dead monarchy, a pro- 
 scribed religion, princes errant, and defunct privileges. " His 
 scope of action," she thought, " is no less than that of the 
 other ; he is groping among the ruins of a past out of which 
 he seeks to make a future." 
 
 Her imagination, fancy-fed, hesitated between the new and
 
 A NOTION OF POUCHES. 167 
 
 the old ruins. Her conscience clamored in her, that the one was 
 fighting for a man and the other for a country ; but by means 
 of sentiment she had arrived at the point which is reached by 
 the way of reason, when it is recognized that the King is the 
 same thing as the country. 
 
 The Marquis heard the sound of a man's footsteps" in the 
 salon, and rose to go to meet him. He recognized the 
 belated guest who tried to speak to him, in surprise at his 
 company ; but the Gars hid from the Republicans a sign by 
 which he desired the stranger to take his place at the banquet 
 and to keep silence. When the two Republican officers ex- 
 amined the features of their hosts, the suspicions at first enter- 
 tained by them awoke afresh. Their prudence was aroused at 
 the sight of the Abbe Gudin's ecclesiastical vestments and the 
 outlandish costumes of the Chouans. Their heed redoubled ; 
 they discovered amusing contrasts between the talk and the 
 manners of their guests. If some of them showed symptoms 
 of ultra-Republicanism, the bearing of certain others was just 
 as pronouncedly aristocratic. Certain glances exchanged be- 
 tween the Marquis and his guests, which they detected, certain 
 ambiguous words incautiously dropped ; and more than either 
 of these things, the round beards which adorned the throats 
 of several guests who unsuccessfully tried to conceal them by 
 their cravats, apprised the officers of the truth, which struck 
 them both at the same moment. 
 
 They communicated the same thought to each other by the 
 same glance, for Mme. du Gua had cleverly separated them, 
 and they had to fall back upon the language of the eyes. The 
 situation required that they should act adroitly. They did 
 not know whether they were the masters of the chateau, or 
 whether they had been snared in a trap ; they had no idea 
 whether Mile, de Verneuil was a dupe or an accomplice in 
 this inexplicable affair ; but an unforeseen occurrence hurried 
 matters to a crisis before they could fully recognize its gravity. 
 
 The newly-arrived guest was one of those men, squarely
 
 168 THE CHOUANS. 
 
 built in every way, with a high-colored complexion, who fling 
 their shoulders back as they walk, who seem to make a flutter 
 in the atmosphere round about them, and to be of the opinion 
 that every one needs must take more than one look at them. 
 In spite of his noble birth, he had taken life as a joke which 
 must be made the best of; and though he had a devout ven- 
 eration for himself, he was good-natured, well-mannered, and 
 witty, after the manner of those gentlemen who, having fin- 
 ished their education at court, have retired to their estates ; 
 whereon, even after the lapse of twenty years, they will never 
 believe that they have grown rusty. Men of this description 
 say and do the wrong thing with assured self-possession ; they 
 talk rubbish in a lively way, show no little skill in fighting shy 
 of good fortune, and take incredible pains to run their heads 
 into nooses. He made up for lost time by plying his knife 
 and fork in a way which showed him to be a stout trencher- 
 man, and then gave a look round at the company. At the 
 sight of the two officers his surprise was redoubled ; he 
 directed a questioning look at Mme. du Gua, who only replied 
 by indicating Mile, de Verneuil. When he set eyes on the 
 siren whose beauty was beginning to lay to rest the thoughts 
 which Mme. du Gua had at first aroused in the minds of the 
 guests, one of those insolent and derisive smiles that seem to 
 convey a whole scandalous chronicle broke over the counte- 
 nance of the stout stranger. He bent and whispered to his 
 neighbor two or three words that remained a mystery for Marie 
 and the officers, as they traveled from ear to ear and from 
 mouth to mouth, till they reached the heart of him into whom 
 they must strike death. 
 
 The Vendean and Chouan chiefs turned their scrutiny upon 
 the Marquis of Montauran with merciless curiosity. Mme. 
 du Gua's eyes were radiant with joy as they traveled from the 
 Marquis to the astonished Mile, de Verneuil. The anxious 
 officers seemed to consult each other as they awaited the upshot 
 of this extraordinary scene. Then in a moment the knives
 
 A NOTION OF FOUCH&S. 169 
 
 and forks in all hands ceased to move, silence prevailed in 
 the place, and all eyes were concentrated upon the Gars. A 
 terrific burst of fury had turned the flushed and passionate 
 face to the hue of wax. The young chief turned towards the 
 guest who had set this squib in motion, and said in a deep 
 smothered voice 
 
 "Death of my soul! Count, is that true? " he demanded. 
 "On my honor," the Count answered, bowing gravely. 
 The Marquis lowered his eyes for one moment ; but he raised 
 them immediately to turn them once more upon Marie. She 
 was watching this struggle closely, and received that deadly 
 glance. 
 
 " I would give my life," he muttered, " to have my revenge 
 at this moment." 
 
 Mme. du Gua understood these words from the mere move- 
 ment of his lips, and smiled at the young man, as one smiles 
 at a friend who is about to be delivered from his despair. The 
 general scorn depicted upon all faces for Mile, de Verneuil 
 raised the indignation of the two Republicans to the highest 
 pitch. They rose abruptly. 
 
 "What do you desire, citizens," asked Mme. du Gua. 
 "Our swords, citoyenne ! " Gerard replied, ironically. 
 "You do not require them at table," said the Marquis 
 coolly. 
 
 " No, but we are going to play at a game that you under- 
 stand," said Gerard as he reappeared. " We shall see each 
 other a little closer here than we did at La Pelerine." 
 
 The company remained struck dumb. The courtyard rang 
 at that moment with a volley, fired all at once and in a way 
 that sounded terribly in the ears of the two officers. They 
 both rushed to the flight of steps, and saw about a hundred 
 Chouans taking aim at the few soldiers who had survived the 
 first round of firing, and shooting them down like hares. 
 These Bretons were coming up from the bank where Marche-a- 
 Terre had stationed them at the risk of their lives ; for during
 
 170 THE CHOUANS. 
 
 these manoeuvres, and after the last shots were fired, a sound 
 was heard through the cries of dying men. Several Chouans 
 had dropped like stones into the depths of the water which 
 eddied round about them. Pille-Miche took aim at Gerard ; 
 Marche-a-Terre covered Merle. 
 
 "Captain," the Marquis said coolly, repeating to Merle 
 the words that the Republican had spoken about him, "you 
 see that men are like medlars ; they ripen on straw" He 
 waved his hand to show the captain the whole escort of Blues 
 lying on the blood-drenched litter, where the Chouans were 
 despatching the living and stripping the dead with incredible 
 rapidity. " I was quite right when I told you that your men 
 would never reach La Pelerine," added the Marquis, " and I 
 think that your skull will be filled with lead before mine is. 
 What do you say ? " 
 
 Montauran felt a hideous craving to slake his anger. His 
 own taunts of the vanquished, the cold-blooded cruelty, 
 the very treachery of this military execution, carried out 
 without his orders, but to which he now gave his countenance, 
 satisfied the inmost wishes of his heart. In his wrath he 
 would fain have destroyed all France. The mangled Blues 
 and their surviving officers, all of them guiltless of the crime 
 for which he demanded vengeance, were in his hands like so 
 many cards, which the gambler gnaws to pieces in his despair. 
 
 " I would rather perish in the same way than gloat over it 
 as you do," said Gerard. He looked at the naked blood- 
 stained corpses of his men. " Murdered ! " he cried, " and 
 after this cowardly fashion ! " 
 
 " Like Louis XVI., sir! " the Marquis retorted sharply. 
 
 " There are mysteries in the trial of a king which you, sir, 
 will never comprehend," said Gerard haughtily. 
 
 " Bring a king to trial ! " cried the Marquis, now beside 
 himself. 
 
 " Wage war against France ! " said Gerard contemptuously. 
 
 "Preposterous folly ! " said the Marquis.
 
 A NOTION OF FOUCHfrS. 171 
 
 "Parricide ! " the Republican retorted. 
 
 "Regicide!" 
 
 " What, are you going to pick a quarrel in the last minute 
 of your life?" cried Merle gaily. 
 
 " True," said Gerard coldly. Then turning to the Marquis, 
 "Sir," he said, " if you mean to put us to death, at least do 
 us the favor to shoot us at once." 
 
 "Just like you ! " the captain put in ; " always in a hurry 
 to be done with a thing. But when one sets out on a long 
 journey, my friend, and there is to be no breakfast the next 
 morning, one has supper first." 
 
 Proudly, and without a word, Gerard sprang towards the 
 wall ; Pille-Miche leveled his musket at him, and glanced at 
 the impassive Marquis. He construed the silence of his chief 
 as a command, and the adjutant-major fell like a tree. Marche- 
 a-Terre rushed up to share this fresh spoil with Pille-Miche, 
 and they wrangled and croaked above the yet warm corpse like 
 two famished ravens. 
 
 " If you like to finish your supper, captain, you are at 
 liberty to come with me," said the Marquis, who wished to 
 keep Merle for an exchange of prisoner. The captain went 
 back with the Marquis mechanically, murmuring in a low voice 
 as if he were reproaching himself, "It is that she-devil of a 
 
 light-of-love who is at the bottom of all this What will 
 
 Hulotsay?" 
 
 "Light-of-love ! " exclaimed the Marquis in a smothered 
 voice ; " then there is no doubt about what she really is ! " 
 
 The captain had apparently dealt a deathblow to Montauran, 
 who followed him pale, haggard, exhausted, and with tottering 
 steps. Another scene had been enacted in the dining-room, 
 which in the absence of the Marquis had taken so menacing a 
 turn, that Marie, who found herself deprived of her protector, 
 could read her death-warrant written of a certainty in her 
 rival's eyes. At the sound of the volley every one except 
 Mme. du Gua had risen from the table. "Take your seats
 
 172 THE CHOUANS. 
 
 again," said she; "It is nothing. Our people are killing 
 the Blues." 
 
 When she saw that the Marquis was well out of the room, 
 she rose. " Mademoiselle, here," she said, with the calmness 
 of suppressed rage, " came to carry off the Gars from us. 
 She came here to try to give him up to the Republic." 
 
 " I could have given him up a score of times since this morn- 
 ing," replied Mile, de Verneuil, "and I have saved his life." 
 
 Mme. du Gua sprang at her rival with lightning swiftness. 
 In a transport of blind fury, she rent the feeble loops of twisted 
 braid that fastened the spencer of the girl (who stood aghast 
 at this unlooked-for assault), and with violent hands broke 
 into the sanctuary where the letter lay concealed, tearing her 
 way through the material, the embroideries, corset, and shift. 
 Then she took advantage of this search to assuage her personal 
 jealousy, and managed to lacerate her rival's throbbing breast 
 with such dexterity and fury, that her nails left their traces in 
 the blood that they had drawn, feeling the while a horrid 
 pleasure in subjecting her victim to this detestable outrage. 
 In the faint resistance which Marie offered to this furious 
 woman, her unfastened hood fell back; her hair, released 
 from restraint, shook itself free in waving curls ; modesty had 
 set her whole face aflame ; two burning tears fell, that left 
 their gleaming traces on her cheeks and made the fire in her 
 eyes glow brighter; she stood quivering at the indignity, 
 shuddering under the eyes of those assembled. Even harsh 
 judges would have believed in her innocence when they saw 
 what she suffered. 
 
 Hatred is so clumsy a calculator that Mme. du Gua did not 
 perceive that no one gave any heed whatever to her when she 
 cried triumphantly, "Look here, gentlemen; have I traduced 
 this frightful creature now? " 
 
 "Not so very frightful," said the stout guest, who had 
 brought about this disaster. " I have a prodigious liking for 
 frights of this description."
 
 A NOTION OF FOUCH&S. 173 
 
 "Here is an order," said the merciless Vendean lady, 
 " signed by Laplace, and countersigned by Dubois." Several 
 raised their heads at the two names. " And this is the gist 
 of it," Mme. du Gua continued 
 
 " ' Military citizen- commandants of every rank, local admin- 
 istrators, procureur-syndics, and so forth, in the revolted depart- 
 ments, and especially those situated in the localities frequented 
 by the ci-devant Marquis de Montauran, chief of the bandits, 
 and nicknamed the Gars, are to give every help and assistance 
 to the citoyenne Marie Verneuil, and to act in accordance with 
 the orders which she may give them, each one, in everything that 
 concerns him,' and so on, and so on." 
 
 " Here is an opera girl taking an illustrious name to soil it 
 with this infamy," she added. 
 
 There was an evident stir of surprise among those assem- 
 bled. 
 
 "The contest is not on equal terms if the Republic is 
 going to employ such pretty women against us ! " said the 
 Baron du Guenic gaily. 
 
 "And women, moreover, who have nothing to lose," 
 returned Mme. du Gua. 
 
 "Nothing!" said the Chevalier du Vissard ; "Mademoi- 
 selle has endowments which must bring her in a pretty large 
 income! " 
 
 " The Republic must be of a very frivolous turn to send us 
 women of pleasure as envoys," cried the Abbe Gudin. 
 
 " But, unfortunately, mademoiselle seeks those pleasures 
 which kill," said Mme. du Gua, with a hideous glee in her 
 expression, which meant that the end to this jesting was 
 approaching. 
 
 "How is it then that you are living still, madame?" said 
 Marie, rising to her feet after repairing the disorder in her 
 dress. The cutting epigram silenced the company, and com- 
 pelled their respect for so proud a victim. Mme. du Gua 
 noticed a smile stealing over the lips of the chiefs ; the irony
 
 174 THE CHOUANS. 
 
 in it infuriated her ; she neither saw the entrance of the Mar- 
 quis nor of the captain, who followed him. 
 
 "Pille-Miche," she called to the Chouan, as she pointed 
 out Mile, de Verneuil, "here is my share of the spoil; I 
 make her over to you ; do whatever you will with her." 
 
 A shudder ran through the whole roomful at the words 
 "whatever you will," in that woman's mouth; for behind 
 the Marquis there appeared the hideous heads of Marche-a- 
 Terre and Pille-Miche, and her fate was evident in all its 
 horror. 
 
 Francine stood as if thunderstruck, with clasped hands 
 and eyes brimming with tears. Mile, de Verneuil, who 
 recovered all her self-possession in the face of danger, cast a 
 look of scorn round the assembly, snatched her letter back 
 from Mme. du Gua, and held up her head ; her eyes were dry, 
 but there was lightning in them as she hastened towards the 
 door, where Merle's sword was standing. There she came 
 upon the Marquis, who stood apathetic and motionless as a 
 statue. There was no trace of pity for her in his face ; every 
 feature was rigid and immovable. Cut to the heart, her life 
 grew hateful to her. This man then, who had professed so 
 much love for her, had listened to the taunts that had been 
 heaped upon her ; had stood there, a frozen-hearted spectator 
 of the outrage she had just suffered when the beauties that a 
 woman reserves for love had been subjected to the general 
 gaze. Perhaps she might have forgiven Montauran for the 
 scorn with which he regarded her, but it made her indignant 
 that he should have seen her in an ignominious position. The 
 dazed look she turned upon him was full of hate, for she felt 
 a dreadful craving for revenge awaking within her. She saw 
 death now close upon her, and felt oppressed by her own 
 powerlessness. 
 
 Something surged up in her head like an eddying tide of 
 madness. For her, with the boiling blood in her veins, the 
 whole world seemed wrapped in flames. Instead of killing her-
 
 A NOTION OF FOUCH&S. 175 
 
 self therefore, she snatched up the sword, brandished it above 
 the Marquis, and drove it at him up to the hilt ; but as the 
 blade had slipped between his side and his arm, the Gars 
 caught Marie by the wrist and dragged her from the room, 
 aided by Pille-Miche, who had flung himself upon the fren- 
 zied girl just as she tried to kill the Marquis. At the sight 
 of all this Francine shrieked. 
 
 "Pierre! Pierre! Pierre!" she cried in piteous tones, 
 following her mistress as she wailed. 
 
 The Marquis left the stupefied assembly and went out, shut- 
 ting the door of the room behind him. He was still holding 
 the girl's wrist tightly in a convulsive clutch when he reached 
 the flight of steps ; and though Pille-Miche's nervous hands 
 were almost crushing the bone of her arm, she was conscious 
 of nothing but the burning fingers of the young chief, at 
 whom she gazed with her cold eyes. 
 
 "You are hurting me, sir! " The Marquis looked at her 
 for an instant, and this was all the answer that he made. 
 
 " Have you something to avenge as foully as that woman 
 has done?" said she. Then she shivered as she saw the 
 corpses stretched out upon the litter, and she cried, " The 
 
 faith of a gentleman Ha! ha! ha!" Her laughter 
 
 was fearful to hear. " A glorious day ! " she added. 
 
 "Yes," he echoed, "a glorious day, and without a 
 morrow." 
 
 He dropped Mile, de Verneuil's hand when he had given 
 one long, last look at the magnificent creature whom he found 
 it all but impossible to renounce. Neither of these two highly 
 wrought spirits would give way. Perhaps the Marquis was 
 waiting for a tear, but the girl's eyes were dry and proud. He 
 turned away abruptly, and left Pille-Miche his victim. 
 
 "God will hear me, Marquis; I shall pray to Him to give 
 you a glorious day without a morrow ! " 
 
 Pille-Miche, rather at a loss with so splendid a prey, drew 
 her along with a mixture of respect and mockery in his
 
 176 THE CHOUANS. 
 
 gentleness. The Marquis heaved a sigh, and returned to the 
 dining-room, turning upon his guests a face like that of a 
 corpse with the eyes as yet unclosd. 
 
 Captain Merle's presence was inexplicable for every actor in 
 this tragedy ; every one looked at him questioningly and in 
 surprise. Merle perceived their astonishment, and, smiling 
 sadly, he spoke, still in character, to the Chouans. 
 
 " I do not believe, gentlemen, that you can refuse a glass 
 of wine to a man who is about to go the last stage of his 
 journey." 
 
 It was just as the assemblage had been restored to equa- 
 nimity by these words, uttered with a Gallic lightheartedness 
 which was bound to find favor with Vendeans, that Montau- 
 ran reappeared ; his white face and the fixed look in his eyes 
 struck a chill through every guest. 
 
 "You shall see," said the captain, " that dead men will 
 set the living going ! " 
 
 "Ah ! " said the Marquis, with the involuntary start of a 
 man who wakes from sleep; "there you are, my dear 
 Council-of-War ! " He reached for a bottle of vin de Grave 
 as if to fill the other's glass. 
 
 " Thanks, citizen-marquis ; but, you see, it might go to my 
 head." 
 
 At this witticism, Mme. du Gua spoke smilingly to the 
 guests. 
 
 " Come," she said ; "let us spare him the dessert." 
 
 "You are very cruel, madame, in your vengeance," the 
 captain answered. " You forget that murdered friend of 
 mine, who is waiting for me ; and I always keep my appoint- 
 ments." 
 
 " Captain," said the Marquis, " you are at liberty ! Stay," 
 and he threw his glove towards him ; " here is your passport. 
 The "Chasseurs du Roi " know that they must not kill all 
 the game at once." 
 
 "Life?" said Merle, "very well so be it then; but you
 
 A NOTION OF FOUCH&S. 177 
 
 are making a blunder. You shall be closely pressed, I will 
 engage for it, and I shall give you no quarter. You may be 
 very clever, but you are not worth as much as Gerard. Still, 
 although your head will never make up to me for his, have it 
 I must and will." 
 
 " He was in such a great hurry ! " retorted the Marquis. 
 
 "Good-bye. Perhaps I could drink with my own execu- 
 tioners, but I cannot stay here with my friend's murderers," 
 said the captain, and he vanished, leaving the guests to their 
 amazement. 
 
 "Now, then, gentlemen, what have you to say about the 
 sheriffs, apothecaries, and attorneys who rule the Republic?" 
 asked the Marquis coolly. 
 
 " God's death, Marquis!" replied the Comte de Bauvan; 
 " they are very ill-bred, at all events. That fellow has affronted 
 us, it seems to me." 
 
 There had been a secret motive for the captain's prompt 
 retreat. This girl, who had met with such scorn and humilia- 
 tion, and who perhaps succumbed at that very moment, had, 
 during the past scene, shown him beauties so'difficult to forget 
 that as he went out he said to himself, " If she does belong 
 to that class, she is no ordinary girl at any rate, and she shall 
 assuredly be my wife " 
 
 He despaired so little of rescuing her from the clutches of 
 these savages that his first thought had been how he would 
 take her under his protection in the future, having saved her 
 life. Unfortunately, when the captain reached the flight of 
 steps, he found the courtyard deserted. He looked about him 
 and gave ear to the silence, but heard nothing except the noisy 
 far-off laughter of the Chouans as they drank and divided the 
 booty in the gardens. He ventured to turn the corner of 
 the fatal wing of the building, where his men had been shot 
 down ; and, by the feeble light of one or two candles, he dis- 
 tinguished from his angle the " Chasseurs du Roi " broken up 
 into different groups. Neither Pille-Miche, nor Marche-a- 
 12
 
 178 THE CIIOUANS. 
 
 Terre, nor the girl herself was there ; but he suddenly felt a 
 pull at the skirt of his uniform, and, turning round, he saw 
 Francine on her knees. 
 
 " Where is she ? " he asked. 
 
 " I do not know Pierre drove me away, and ordered 
 
 me not to stir." 
 
 " Which way did they go ? " 
 
 "That way," she answered, pointing to the causeway. 
 Then, in the moonlight, the captain and Francine discerned 
 certain shadows falling on the waters of the lake ; the slender 
 feminine form that they both recognized, indistinct as it was, 
 made their hearts beat. 
 
 " Oh, it is she !" said the Breton maid. Mile, de Verneuil 
 was apparently standing there resignedly, with several figures 
 about her whose actions indicated a discussion. 
 
 " There are several of them ! " the captain exclaimed. " It 
 is all one ; come along." 
 
 "You will lose your life to no purpose," said Francine. 
 
 " I have lost it once already to-day," he answered gaily. 
 Both of them made their way towards the gloomy gateway, 
 on the other side of which this scene was taking place. But 
 Francine stopped half-way. 
 
 "No," she called softly; " I will go no further! Pierre 
 told me not to meddle. I know him. We shall spoil every- 
 thing. Do anything you please, Monsieur /' Officier, but keep 
 away. If Pierre were to see you with me he would kill you." 
 
 Pille-Miche appeared without the gate ; he called to the 
 postilion who had kept in the stable, saw the captain, and 
 shouted, as he leveled his musket at him, "Saint Anne of 
 Auray ! The rector at Antrain was quite right when he told us 
 thnt the Blues had signed a contract with the devil. Stop a 
 bil ; I will show you how to come to life again ! " 
 
 "Hollo, there! My life has been granted me," shouted 
 Merle, seeing himself threatened. 
 
 " Here is your chiefs glove ! "
 
 A NOTION OF FOUCH&S. 179 
 
 "Yes," answered the Chouan, "just like a ghost, that ! I, 
 
 on the other hand, do not grant you your life. Ave 
 
 Maria!" and he fired. The shot penetrated the captain's 
 head, he dropped ; and as Francine came up to him she 
 distinctly heard Merle uttering these words, " I would rather 
 stop here with them than go back without them." 
 
 The Chouan rushed upon the Blue to strip the body with 
 the remark, " There is one good thing about these men who 
 came back, their clothes come to life again along with them ; " 
 but when he saw in the captain's hand the glove of the Gars 
 that had been held up for him, he stood in dismay at sight of 
 that sacred token. " I would not be in the skin of my 
 mother's son ! " he exclaimed, and he vanished with the 
 swiftness of a bird. 
 
 In order to understand this unexpected meeting, so fatal for 
 the captain, it is necessary to follow the fortunes of Mile, de 
 Verneuil after the Marquis, overcome with his rage and 
 despair, had gone away and abandoned her to Pille-Miche. 
 Then Francine had seized Marche-a-Terre's arm in a spasm of 
 fear, and with her eyes full of tears had reminded him of the 
 promise he had made to her. At the distance of a few paces 
 Pille-Miche was dragging off his victim, much as he might 
 have trailed some awkward burden after him. Marie, with 
 loosened hair and bowed head, turned her eyes upon the lake, 
 but she was held back by an iron grip, and compelled to fol- 
 low the Chouan with lagging steps ; now and again he turned 
 to give her a look or to hasten her progress, and each time he 
 did so a jovial thought was expressed on his face by a fright- 
 ful smile. 
 
 "Isn't she grand! " he cried with uncouth em- 
 phasis. Francine, hearing these words, recovered her power 
 of speech. 
 
 " Pierre ! " 
 
 "Well?" 
 
 " Is he going to kill mademoiselle? "
 
 180 THE CHOUANS. 
 
 " Not just at once," answered Marche-a-Terre. 
 
 " But she will resist ; and if she dies, I shall die too ! " 
 
 "Ah, well; you are too fond of her; so let her 
 
 die! " said Marche-a-Terre. 
 
 "If we two are rich and happy, we owe our good fortune 
 to her ; but, anyhow, have you not promised me to save her 
 from all misfortune? " 
 
 "I will try ; but stop there, and dont't stir away." 
 
 Marche-a-Terre' s arm was instantly released, and Francine, 
 consumed by the most terrible anxiety, waited in the court- 
 yard. Marche-a-Terre came up with his companion just as 
 the latter had entered the barn and forced his victim to get 
 into the coach. Pille-Miche demanded his fellow's aid to 
 pull the coach out. 
 
 "What do you want with all this?" inquired Marche-a- 
 Terre. 
 
 "Well, the Grande-Garce has given me the woman, so all 
 she has belongs to me." 
 
 "As for the coach, well and good, you will make some 
 money out of it ; but how about the woman ? She will fly at 
 your face like a cat ! " 
 
 Pille-Miche burst into a noisy laugh, and replied, "Why, 
 I shall take her home along with me, and I shall tie her up." 
 
 "All right; let us put the horses in," said Marche-a-Terre. 
 
 A moment later Marche-a-Terre, who had left his com- 
 panion to keep watch over his victim, brought the carriage out 
 upon the causeway outside the gate. Pille-Miche got in be- 
 side Mile, de Verneuil, without noticing the start she made to 
 fling herself into the water. 
 
 "Hello! Pille-Miche!" shouted Marche-a-Terre. 
 
 "What is it?" 
 
 " I will buy your share of the plunder of you." 
 
 "Are you joking?" asked the Chouan, pulling his prisoner 
 by the skirt as a butcher might seize a calf that was escaping 
 him.
 
 A NOTION OF FOUCH&S. 181 
 
 "Let me have a look at her, and I'll make you an offer." 
 
 The unhappy girl was obliged to descend, and to stand 
 there between the two Chouans, who each held one of her 
 hands in his grasp, and gazed at her as the two elders must 
 have stared at the bathing Susannah. Marche-a-Terre heaved 
 a sigh. 
 
 " Will you take thirty good livres a year ? " 
 
 " Do you really mean it ? " 
 
 "Do you take it?" asked Marche-a-Terre, stretching out 
 his hand. 
 
 " Oh, it's a bargain, for I can have Breton girls with that, 
 and grand ones too ! But how about the carriage ; who is to 
 have that?" said Pille-Miche, bethinking himself. 
 
 " That is mine ! " cried Marche-a-Terre, with a ring in his 
 terrible voice which indicated a kind of ascendancy over all 
 his companions due to the savagery of his nature. 
 
 " But suppose there should be money in the carriage? " 
 
 " Haven't you struck a bargain ? " 
 
 " Yes; I closed with you." 
 
 " All right ; go and look up the postilion, who is fixed up 
 in the stable." 
 
 " But if there was any gold in it " 
 
 " Is there any in there ? " Marche-a-Terre asked sharply of 
 Marie while he shook her by the arm. 
 
 " I have a hundred crowns," replied Mile, de Verneuil. At 
 these words the two Chouans looked at each other. 
 
 "Well, my good friend, do not let us fall out about a 
 Republican girl," said Pille-Miche in Marche-a-Terre's ear ; 
 " shall we chuck her into the pond with a stone round her 
 neck, and divide the hundred crowns between us ? " 
 
 " I will give you the hundred crowns out of my share of 
 d'Orgemont's ransom ! " cried Marche-a-Terre, suppressing 
 the groan occasioned by this sacrifice. 
 
 Pille-Miche gave a hoarse kind of cry, and went to find the 
 postilion. His glee brought bad luck to the captain whom he
 
 182 THE CHOUANS. 
 
 met. When he heard the report of the gun, Marche-a-Terre 
 hurried to the spot, where Francine, still in terror, was pray- 
 ing with clasped hands upon her knees beside the poor cap- 
 tain, so vivid had been the effect upon her of the spectacle 
 of the murder. 
 
 "Run to your mistress," said the Chouan shortly; " she 
 is safe." He himself ran in search of the postilion, and 
 returned with the speed of lightning. As he passed by 
 Merle's body for the second time, he saw the glove of the 
 Gars, which the dead hand was still clutching convulsively. 
 
 "Oh, ho!" cried he; " Pille-Miche has tried foul play 
 here ! It is not so sure that he will live to draw that income 
 of his " 
 
 He tore away the glove, and said to Mile, de Verneuil, who 
 was already in her place in the coach with Francine beside 
 her, " Here, take this glove. If you are attacked on the 
 road say, ' Oh ! the Gars ! ' and show this passport here, and 
 no harm can come to you. Francine," he said, turning 
 towards her and seizing her hand, " we are quits now with 
 the woman there ; the devil take her ; come with me." 
 
 " Would you have me leave her just now, at this moment ? " 
 Francine answered in a melancholy voice. Marche-a-Terre 
 first scratched his ear and then his forehead. Then he raised 
 his head and showed his eyes, with the fierce expression that 
 made them formidable. 
 
 " You are right," said he. " For a week I will leave you 
 with her; but when once it is over, if you do not come to 
 
 me " He did not finish the sentence, but he struck the 
 
 muzzle of his rifle a heavy blow with the flat of his hand, 
 made a feint of leveling it at her, and went without waiting 
 for a response. 
 
 As soon as the Chouan had gone, a stifled voice that 
 seemed to rise from the surface of the pond cried, " Madame ! 
 Madame ! " 
 
 "The postilion and ihe two women shuddered with horror,
 
 A NOTION OF FOUCH&S. 183 
 
 for several dead bodies had drifted thither. A Blue hiding 
 behind a tree showed himself. " Let me get up on your box, 
 or I am a dead man ! That damned glass of cider that Clef- 
 des-Cceurs would drink has cost more than a pint of blood ! 
 If he had followed my example, and made his rounds, our 
 poor comrades would not be floating about there, like a fleet." 
 
 While these events were taking place without the house, the 
 chiefs sent by the Vendeans were conferring with the Chouans, 
 glass in hand, while the Marquis of Montauran presided. 
 Ample potations of Bordeaux wine gave warmth to the debate, 
 which grew momentous and serious as the banquet drew to a 
 close. During the dessert, when the lines of concerted 
 military action had been laid down, and the Royalists drank 
 to the health of the Bourbons, the report of Pille-Miche's gun 
 sounded like an echo of the ill-omened war which these gay 
 and noble conspirators were fain to wage against the Republic. 
 Mme. du Gua shook with the pleasurable agitation which she 
 felt at being rid of her rival, and at this the guests all looked at 
 one another, and the Marquis rose from the table and went out. 
 
 "After all, he was in love with her," said Mme. du Gua 
 satirically; "go and keep him company, M. de Fontaine; 
 he will grow as tiresome as the flies if he gets into the blues." 
 
 She went to the window which looked out upon the court- 
 yard, to try to see Marie's dead body. Thence, by the last 
 light of the setting moon, she could make out the coach which 
 was ascending the avenue between the apple trees with in- 
 credible speed. Mile, de Verneuil's veil was fluttering in the 
 breeze out of the coach-window. Mme. du Gua left the com- 
 pany, enraged at what she saw. 
 
 The Marquis was lounging on the flight of steps, deep in 
 gloomy thoughts, as he watched about a hundred and fifty 
 Chouans who had returned from the gardens, whither they 
 had gone to divide their booty, and who were now about to 
 finish the cider and the bread which had been promised to the 
 Blues. These soldiers (new pattern) upon whom the hopes
 
 184 THE CHOUANS. 
 
 of the Monarchy were founded were drinking together in 
 little knots ; while seven or eight of their number were amus- 
 ing themselves on the embankment opposite to the flight of 
 steps, by tying stones to the bodies of the Blues and flinging 
 them into the water. This spectacle, taken in connection 
 with the various pictures presented by the eccentric costumes 
 and the wild faces of the callous and uncivilized gars, was so 
 extraordinary and so novel to M. de Fontaine (who had 
 observed a certain appearance of seemliness and discipline 
 among the Vendean troops), that he seized this opportunity 
 to say to the Marquis of Montauran, "What can you hope to 
 do with such brutes as that ? " 
 
 " No great things, you mean, my dear Count ! " replied the 
 Gars. 
 
 "Will they ever be able to execute manoeuvres when they 
 are confronted with the Republicans ? ' ' 
 
 "Never." 
 
 " Will they ever be able to do so much as to understand 
 your orders and carry them out ? " 
 
 "Never." 
 
 " Then what use will they be to you? " 
 
 " They will enable me to plunge my sword into the heart 
 of the Republic," thundered the Marquis; "to make Fou- 
 geres mine in three days, and the length and breadth of 
 Brittany in ten ! Come, sir," he continued in a milder 
 voice, "set out for la Vendee ; let Autichamp, Suzannet, and 
 the Abbe Bernier only go ahead as quickly as I shall ; let 
 them not open negotiations with the First Consul (as they 
 once led me to fear) " here he gave the Vendean's hand a 
 mighty grasp "and we shall be within thirty leagues of 
 Paris in three weeks." 
 
 "But the Republic is sending sixty thousand men and 
 General Brune against us ! " 
 
 " Sixty thousand men ! Really? " cried the Marquis, with 
 a satirical smile. " And with what men will Bonaparte carry
 
 A NOTION OF FOUCHfrS. 186 
 
 on his Italian campaign ? And as for General Brune, he will 
 not come either. Bonaparte has dispatched him against the 
 English in Holland, and General Hedouville, the friend of 
 our friend Barras, will take his place out here. Now do you 
 understand me ? " 
 
 When he heard him talk in this way, M. de Fontaine looked 
 at the Marquis with an astute and arch expression which seemed 
 to convey a reproach to the speaker for not fully understand- 
 ing the drift of the mysterious words which he had just uttered. 
 Both gentlemen understood each other perfectly well from that 
 moment, yet the young chief replied with an indefinable smile 
 to the unspoken thought in the eyes of both. 
 
 " M. de Fontaine, do you know my arms? My device is 
 'Perseverer jusqu' a lamort. 1 " 
 
 The Comte de Fontaine grasped Montauran's hand and 
 pressed it as he said, "I was left for dead on the field at 
 Quatre-Chemins, so you will have no misgivings about me ; 
 but believe my experience times are changed." 
 
 " Oh ! yes," said La Billardidre, who joined them. You 
 are young, Marquis. Just listen to me. Your estates have 
 not all been sold " 
 
 " Ah ! can you imagine devotion without a sacrifice ! " said 
 Montauran. 
 
 " Do yu really know the King? " said La Billardiere. 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Then I admire you." 
 
 "The King," said the young chief, "is the priest, and I 
 am fighting for the faith." 
 
 And so they separated. The Vendean, convinced of the 
 necessity of a resignation to the course of events, and of 
 keeping his faith in his own heart ; La Billardiere to go back 
 to England again ; and Montauran to fight desperately, and 
 to force the Vendeans to co-operate with him by means of the 
 victories of which he dreamed. 
 
 These events had stirred up so many emotions in the soul
 
 186 THE CHOUANS. 
 
 of Mile, de Verneuil, that she lay back in the carriage utterly 
 prostrated and as if dead, when she had given the order to 
 proceed to Fougeres. Francine was silent, following the ex- 
 ample of her mistress. The postilion, who was in terror of 
 some fresh misadventure, made haste to reach the high road, 
 and very soon reached the top of La Pelerine. 
 
 In the dense, white morning mists, Marie de Verneuil made 
 her way across the wide and beautiful valley of the Couesnon, 
 where this story began. From the summit of La Pelerine she 
 could hardly see the schistous rock upon which the town of 
 Fougeres is built, and from which the three travelers were still 
 some two leagues distant. Mile, de Verneuil felt chilled 
 through with the cold, and thought of the poor infantryman 
 perched up behind the carriage, insisting in spite of his re- 
 fusals that he should come in and sit beside Francine. The 
 sight of Fougeres drew her for a moment from her reverie. 
 Moreover, as the guard stationed at the St. Leonard gate 
 refused admittance into the town to strangers, she was com- 
 pelled to produce her credentials. Then she found herself 
 protected at last from all hostile attempts as she came into 
 this place, with its own townspeople for its sole defenders at 
 the moment. The postilion could find no better sheltering 
 roof for her than at the Post inn. 
 
 " Madame," said the Blue, whom she had rescued, " if you 
 should ever require to administer a sabre cut to any individual, 
 my life is at your service. I am good at that. My name is 
 Jean Falcon ; I am called Beau-Pied ; and I am a sergeant in 
 the first company of Hulot's lads in the seventy-second demi- 
 brigade, which they call the Mayencaise. Excuse my vanity 
 and presumption ; but I can do no more than offer you the 
 life of a sergeant, because for the time being I have nothing 
 else to put at your disposal." He turned on his heel and 
 went away whistling. 
 
 "The lower one looks in the ranks of society," said Marie 
 with bitterness, " the more one finds generosity of feeling
 
 A NOTION OF FOUCH&S. 187 
 
 without any parade of it. A marquis gives me up to death in 
 
 return for life, while a sergeant . But there, let that 
 
 be!" 
 
 When the beautiful Parisian lay in a well-warmed bed, her 
 faithful Francine hung about, waiting in vain for the affec- 
 tionate word that she was accustomed to hear ; but her mis- 
 tress saw her still standing there uneasily, and said with every 
 mark of sadness 
 
 " They call this a day, Francine, but I am ten years older 
 for it." 
 
 The next morning, as she was getting up, Corentin pre- 
 sented himself to call upon Marie, who gave him admittance. 
 
 " Francine," she remarked, " my misfortune must be great 
 indeed when I can tolerate the sight of Corentin." 
 
 But for all that, when she saw him again, she instinctively 
 felt for the thousandth time towards the man a repugnance 
 that an acquaintance of two years' standing had mitigated no 
 whit. 
 
 "Well," said he, smiling; " I thought you were going to 
 succeed. Was it not he then whom you got hold of? " 
 
 " Corentin," she answered slowly, with a sorrowful expres- 
 sion, " do not mention that affair to me unless I myself speak 
 to you of it." 
 
 He walked to and fro in the room, attempting to divine the 
 secret thoughts of this strange girl, in whose glance there 
 was a something which at times had power enough to discon. 
 cert the cleverest men. 
 
 "I foresaw this check," he began, after a moment's pause. 
 "I have been making inquiries, in case you might care to 
 make this town your headquarters. We are in the very heart 
 and centre of Chouannerie. Will you stay here ? " The nod 
 vouchsafed to him by way of a reply gave rise to conjec- 
 tures as to yesterday's events on Corentin's part, which 
 were partially correct. "I have taken a house for you," he 
 went on j " one confiscated by the nation, and as yet unsold.
 
 188 THE CHOUANS. 
 
 They are not very advanced in their notions hereabouts. 
 Nobody has dared to buy the place, because the emigrant to 
 whom it belonged is thought to be an awkward customer. 
 It is close to St. Leonard's church, and, upon my honor, 
 one enjoys a charming view from the windows. Something 
 can be made of the hole ; it is habitable ; will you go 
 into it?" 
 
 " Yes, at once," she exclaimed. 
 
 " But you must let me have a few hours in which to get it 
 cleaned and set to rights, so that you may find everything 
 to your mind." 
 
 "What does it matter?" she said. "I should make no 
 difficulty about living in a convent or in a jail. However, 
 you can arrange things so that I can be left to rest in 
 absolute solitude this evening. There, you can leave me ! 
 Your presence is intolerable. I wish to be left alone with 
 Francine. I am on better terms with her perhaps than with 
 myself There, good-bye; go away!" 
 
 It was evident from the words thus volubly uttered, and 
 imbued by turns with coquetry, wilfulness, and passion, that 
 her serenity was completely restored. Slumber no doubt had 
 gradually dispelled the impressions of the previous day, and 
 reflection had brought her counsels of revenge. If dark 
 thoughts at times were depicted upon her face, they seemed 
 to bear witness to the power possessed by some women of 
 burying their most enthusiastic feelings in the depths of their 
 souls, and of that capacity for dissimulation which enables 
 them to smile graciously while they scheme out the ruin of 
 their victim. 
 
 She sat alone, absorbed in plans for getting the Marquis 
 into her hands alive. For the first time she had known a life 
 in accordance with her inmost wishes ; but of that life noth- 
 ing remained to her now but the longing for revenge a 
 revenge that should be absolute and unending. This was 
 her sole thought, her one passionate desire. Francine's
 
 A NOTION OF FOUCH&S. 189 
 
 words and little services drew no response from Marie, who 
 seemed to be sleeping with her eyes open ; the livelong day 
 went by, and there was no outward sign or movement of the 
 life which is the expression of our thoughts. She lay reclined 
 on a kind of ottoman which she had made with chairs and 
 pillows, and not till evening came did she languidly let fall 
 these words and no more, with her eyes upon Francine 
 " Yesterday, my child, I saw clearly how one can live for 
 love's sole sake ; to-day I have come to understand how one 
 can die to have revenge. Yes ! I would give my life to find 
 him out, wherever he may be, to come across him once more, 
 
 to entangle him, and to have him in my power. But if, 
 
 after a few days, I do not find this man who has slighted me, 
 lying humble and submissive at my feet ; if I do not reduce 
 him to an abject servitude, why, then, I shall be beneath con- 
 tempt, and I shall be no more a woman I shall be no longer 
 myself! " 
 
 The house which Corentin had proposed to Mile, de Ver- 
 neuil was well adapted to gratify her innate love of refinement 
 and luxury in her surroundings. He himself appeared to have 
 accumulated there everything which in his opinion ought to 
 please her, with a lover's eagerness, or, more properly speaking, 
 with the anxious servility of a man in power seeking to attach to 
 his own interest some inferior who is necessary to him. He came 
 to Mile, de Verneuil the next day to suggest a removal to this 
 improvised dwelling-place. She scarcely did more than trans- 
 fer herself from her rickety ottoman to a venerable sofa which 
 Corentin had managed to find for her; but the fanciful Parisian 
 entered into residence as if the house had belonged to her. 
 She treated everything she saw with supreme indifference, and 
 developed a sudden affinity with the oddments, which by 
 degrees she appropriated to her own use, as if they had long 
 been familiar to her. These are trifling details, but not 
 without significance in the portraiture of an unusual character. 
 She might have become well acquainted with this dwelling in
 
 190 THE CHOUANS. 
 
 her dreams before ever she saw the place ; and here she lived 
 upon the hatred within her, just as she would have existed 
 upon love. 
 
 "At any rate," she said to herself," I have not inspired in 
 him that insulting kind of pity which is death ; I do not owe my 
 life to him. Oh, my first and last and only love ! What an 
 outcome of it all ! " 
 
 She made a spring at the startled Francine. " Do you love 
 too ? Oh, yes ! I remember, you are in love ! How very 
 fortunate I am to have a woman beside me who can under- 
 stand ! Well, my poor Francine, do not men seem to you to 
 be horrible creatures? Why, he told me that he loved me ! 
 
 And he could not stand the slightest test Yet if the 
 
 whole world had spurned him, he should have found a refuge 
 in my heart ; if the whole universe had been against him, I 
 would have stood by him. Once, I used to watch a world 
 filled with beings who came and went ; they were only indif- 
 ferent things for me, but that world of mine was only melan- 
 choly, not dreadful ; and now, what is it all without him ? 
 He will go on living though I am not there at his side, though 
 I do not speak to him, nor touch him, nor hold him and clasp 
 
 him close Oh, rather than that, I will murder him myself 
 
 as he sleeps ! ' ' 
 
 Francine looked at her in alarm for a moment without 
 speaking; then she said in a gentle voice, " Murder the man 
 that you love ? ' ' 
 
 "Ah! surely, when he loves you no longer." But after 
 these fearful words, she hid her face in her hands, sank into 
 her chair and was mute. 
 
 The next day some one broke suddenly into her room with- 
 out being announced. It was Hulot ; his face was hard and 
 stern, and Corentin came with him. She raised her eyes and 
 trembled. 
 
 " You are come to require an account of your friends from 
 me ? " she said. " They are dead."
 
 A NOTION OF FOUCH&S. 191 
 
 " I know it," answered Hulot. " They did not die in the 
 service of the Republic." 
 
 "For me, and it was my doing. You are about to speak 
 to me of our country ! Will our country give back life to 
 those who die for her? Will she so much as avenge them? 
 Now, I," she cried, " will avenge them ! " 
 
 Baleful visions of the tragedy in which she had nearly fallen 
 a victim rose up and formed themselves before her eyes ; a 
 mad impulse seized this gracious being, who held modesty to 
 be a woman's first artifice, and she marched abruptly over to 
 the amazed commandant. Her aroused nature gave her a 
 tragic yet queenly attitude. 
 
 "For a few murdered soldiers," she said, " I will bring a 
 head worth thousands of others beneath the axe upon your 
 scaffold. Women carry on war but seldom, yet you, however 
 old you may be, may pick up excellent stratagems in my 
 school. I will give over to your bayonets in him a whole 
 family, his ancestors, his present, past and future. Insomuch 
 as I have been kind and true to him, so I will be crafty and 
 false ! Yes, commandant ! I mean to bring this gallant 
 gentleman home to me ; he shall only leave my arms to go to 
 his death !' Yes ! I shall never know a rival. The wretch 
 pronounced his own death sentence : A day without a mor- 
 row ! We shall both of us be avenged, your Republic 
 
 and I. The Republic!" she went on, with a strange in- 
 flection in her voice that startled Hulot ; " so the rebel 
 will die, after all, for bearing arms against his country? 
 France herself will cheat me of my revenge ? Ah ! one life is 
 such a little thing one death can only atone for a single 
 crime ! But since this gentleman has but one head to lose, 
 in the night before he dies I will make him feel that he is 
 losing more than a life. But before all things, commandant, 
 for it will be you who will put him to death," and a sigh 
 broke from her, "act in such a way that nothing shall betray 
 my treason ; let him die with a full belief in my faith. That
 
 192 THE CHOUANS. 
 
 is all that I ask of you. Let him see nothing but me me 
 and my endearments ! " 
 
 With that she stopped ; but in the dark flush on her face 
 Hulot and Corentin saw that anger and rage had not extin- 
 guished modesty. Marie shuddered violently as she uttered 
 these last words ; she seemed to listen for them afresh, as if 
 she were not sure that she had spoken them. She trembled 
 undisguisedly, and made the involuntary gesture of a woman 
 who has suddenly dropped her veil. 
 
 "But you have had him already in your hands!" said 
 Corentin. 
 
 "Very likely," she replied bitterly. 
 
 " Why did you stop me when I had hold of him ? " asked 
 Hulot. 
 
 "Eh, commandant ! We did not know that it was he /" 
 Suddenly, the excited woman who was hurriedly pacing to 
 and fro, flinging fiery glances at the two witnesses of this 
 tempest, grew calmer. "I hardly know myself," she said, 
 and her tones were those of a man. "What is the good of 
 talking? We must go in search of him ! " 
 
 "Go in search of him?" repeated Hulot; "my dear 
 child, mind that you do not. We are not masters of this 
 country-side ; and if you venture to stir a hundred paces out 
 of the town, you will either be killed or taken prisoner." 
 
 " There is no such thing as danger for those who are seek- 
 ing for vengeance!" she answered, and with a disdainful 
 gesture she dismissed the two men from her presence; the 
 sight of them filled her with shame. 
 
 " What a woman ! " Hulot exclaimed as he withdrew with 
 Corentin. "What a notion those police fellows in Paris 
 have had ! But she will never give him up to us," he added 
 with a shake of the head. 
 
 " Oh, yes, she will ! " Corentin replied. 
 
 "Can you not see that she is in love with him?" said 
 Hulot.
 
 A NOTION OF FOUCH&S. 193 
 
 "That is exactly the reason. Moreover," said Corentin, 
 as he looked at the astonished commandant, " I am on the 
 spot to prevent any nonsense on her part ; for to my thinking, 
 comrade, there is no love affair worth three hundred thousand 
 francs." 
 
 With that, this diplomatist of the Home Office left the 
 soldier, who followed him with his eyes; and, when he no 
 longer heard the sound of the other's footsteps, he heaved a 
 sigh and remarked to himself: " So there is some advantage 
 at times in being a mere thick-head like me ? Tonnerre de 
 Dieu ! If I hit upon the Gars, we will fight it out man to 
 man, or my name is not Hulot ; for now that they have 
 instituted councils of war, if yonder fox is anything to go by, 
 my conscience will be no cleaner, I should say, than any 
 trooper's shirt who has gone under fire for the first time." 
 
 The massacre at the Vivetiere and the desire to avenge his 
 two friends had been quite as strong inducements to resume 
 the command of his demi-brigade as the letter Hulot had re- 
 ceived from the new minister Berthier, who informed him 
 that under the circumstances his resignation could not be 
 accepted. Along with the official dispatch came a confiden- 
 tial letter, containing no information concerning Mile, de 
 Verneuil's mission, but informing him that this incident was 
 completely without the scope of military operations, and 
 should therefore in no way hamper their progress. The share 
 of the military leaders in that matter was confined, so it ran, 
 " to seconding the honorable citoyenne if occasion should 
 call for it." 
 
 The reports which Hulot received having made it clear to 
 him that the mobilization of the Chouans was being directed 
 upon Fougeres, he threw two battalions of his demi-brigade 
 into that important place, bringing them by forced marches 
 and hidden ways. Everything about him had wrought to 
 bring back all the fire of his youth into the veteran com- 
 mandant the perils of his country, a hatred of the aristoc- 
 13
 
 194 THE CHOUANS. 
 
 racy whose partisans were threatening such a considerable 
 district, and the promptings of friendship. 
 
 "This, at last, is the life I was longing for!" cried Mile. 
 de Verneuil when she was alone with Francine. " However 
 swiftly the hours may pass, they are like centuries of thought 
 to me." She took Francine's hand impulsively, and these 
 words fell from her, one by one, in a voice like the first 
 robin's notes after a storm. " I cannot help it, my child. I 
 always see those two exquisite lips ; the short, slightly promi- 
 nent chin, and those eyes of fire ; I hear again the ' hue ! ' 
 of the postilion, and at last I fall to dreaming. And why is 
 there such hatred in me when I awake ? " 
 
 She heaved a long sigh, and rose to her feet. She looked 
 out for the first time over the country, which had been given 
 over to civil war by the cruel noble whom she would fain 
 combat she and no other. The view had an attraction for 
 her ; it drew her out of doors to breathe more freely under 
 the open sky ; and if it was chance that determined her way, 
 she was certainly under the influence of the dark power 
 within us, which makes us look for a gleam of hope in some 
 absurd course. Ideas that occur to us while we are under 
 this spell are often realized ; and then we attribute our in- 
 stinctive insight to the faculty that we call presentiment a 
 power which is real, if unexplained, and which is ever ready 
 at the beck and call of the passions, like a parasite who some- 
 times utters a true word among his lies.
 
 in 
 
 A DAY WITHOUT A MORROW. 
 
 As the final events of this story were largely determined 
 by the character of the country in which they took place, a 
 detailed description of it is unavoidable, for otherwise the 
 catastrophe will be difficult to understand. 
 
 The town of Fougeres is partly situated on a mass of 
 schistous rock that might have fallen forward from the hills 
 that close round the western end of the wide valley of the 
 Couesnon, each of which is differently named in different 
 places round about. A narrow ravine, with the little stream 
 called the Nancon running at the bottom of it, separates the 
 town from these hills. The eastern side of the mass of rock 
 commands a view of the same landscape that the traveler 
 enjoys from the top of La Pelerine ; the only prospect from 
 the western side is along the tortuous valley of the Nancon ; 
 but there is one spot whence it is possible to see a segment of 
 the great circle formed by the main valley as well as the 
 picturesque windings of the smaller one that opens out into 
 it. Here the townspeople had elected to make a promenade, 
 hither Mile, de Verneuil was betaking herself, and this very 
 place was to be the stage on which the drama begun at the 
 Vivetiere was to be carried out. However picturesque, there- 
 fore, the other parts of the town of Fougeres may be, atten- 
 tion must be exclusively directed to the disposition of the 
 country that is visible from the highest point of the prom- 
 enade. 
 
 To give an idea of the appearance of the rock of Fougeres 
 when seen from this side, a comparison might be made 
 between it and one of those huge towers, about which Saracen 
 architects have fashioned tier after tier of balconies, connected 
 
 (195)
 
 196 THE CHOUANS. 
 
 one with the other by spiral staircases. The topmost point 
 of the rock terminates in a Gothic church with its crockets, 
 spire and buttresses, which completes the almost perfect sugar- 
 loaf form of the whole. Before the door of this church, 
 which is dedicated to St. Leonard, lies a little irregularly 
 shaped square. The soil there is banked up and sustained by 
 a wall that runs round it like a balustrade, and it communi- 
 cates with the promenade by a flight of steps. This esplanade 
 runs round about the rock like a second cornice, several 
 fathoms below the square of St. Leonard, presenting an open 
 space planted with trees, which is brought to an end by the 
 fortifications of the town. Then, after a further interval of 
 some ten fathoms of rocks and masonry which support this 
 terrace (thanks, partly to the fortunate disposition of the schist, 
 and partly to patient industry), there lies a winding road 
 called "The Queen's Staircase," cut out of the rock itself, 
 and leading to a bridge built over the Nancon by Anne of 
 Brittany. Underneath this road again, which makes a third 
 cornice, the gardens slope in terraces down to the river, look- 
 ing like tiers of staging covered with flowers. 
 
 Lofty crags, called the hills of St. Sulpice. after the name 
 of the suburb of the town in which they rise, run parallel 
 with the promenade and along the river-side. Their sides 
 slope gently down into the main valley, wherein they take a 
 sharp turn towards the north. These steep, dark, and barren 
 crags seem almost to touch the schistous rock of the prom- 
 enade, coming in some places within a gunshot of them, and 
 they shelter from the north wind a narrow valley some 
 hundred fathoms in depth, wherein the Nancon divides itself 
 into three streams, and waters a meadow-land pleasantly laid 
 out and filled with houses. 
 
 To the south, just where the town, properly speaking, 
 comes to an end, and the suburb of St. Leonard begins, the 
 rock of Fougeres makes a curve, grows less lofty and pre- 
 cipitous, turns into the main valley and stretches along the
 
 A DAY WITHOUT A MORROW. 197 
 
 river, which is thus shut in between it and the hills of St. Sul- 
 pice in a narrow pass. Thence the river flows in two streams 
 towards the Couesnon into which it falls. This picturesque 
 range of rocky hillsides is named the Nid-aux-Crocs. The 
 dale which is shut in by them is called the valley of Gibarry, 
 and its rich meadows produce a large proportion of the butter 
 known to epicures as Prevalaye butter. 
 
 At the spot where the promenade abuts upon the fortifica- 
 tions, a tower rises called the Papegaut's Tower. The house 
 in which Mile, de Verneuil was staying was built upon this 
 square structure. Beyond this point there is nothing but a 
 sheer space, sometimes of wall, sometimes of rock, wherever 
 the latter presents a smooth surface. The portion of the 
 town that is built upon this lofty and impregnable base 
 describes an immense half-moon, at the termination of which 
 the rocks slope away and are hollowed out so as to give an 
 outlet to the Nancon. Here stands the gate of St. Sulpice, 
 through which the way lies into the suburb that bears the 
 same name. On a knoll of granite rock, commanding the 
 entrance into three valleys wherein several roads converge, 
 rise the ancient crenellated turrets of the feudal castle of 
 Fougeres, one of the most considerable structures erected by 
 the Dukes of Britanny, with its walls fifteen fathoms high and 
 fifteen feet thick. On its eastern side the castle is protected 
 by a pond in which the Nancon rises, flowing thence through 
 the moats, and turning several mills between the gate of St. 
 Sulpice and the drawbridges of the fortress. On the western 
 side the perpendicular rocks on which the castle is built form 
 a sufficient defence. 
 
 Thus, from the promenade to this magnificent relic of the 
 middle ages, adorned with its mantling ivy and its turrets 
 round or square, in any one of which a whole regiment might 
 be quartered; the castle, the town, and its rock protected by 
 a curtain of wall, or by scarps hewn in the rock itself, form 
 one immense horseshoe, surrounded by precipices, on the side
 
 198 THE CHOUANS. 
 
 of which (time aiding them) the Bretons have beaten out a 
 few narrow footpaths. Blocks of stone project here and 
 there as if by way of decoration, or water oozes out through 
 crannies where spindling trees are growing. Further on, a 
 few less precipitous slabs of granite support a little grass which 
 attracts the goats ; and the heather grows everywhere, pene- 
 trating many a damp crevice and covering the dark broken 
 surface with its rosy wreaths. In the depth of this great 
 funnel the little river twists and winds in a land of meadow, 
 always carpeted with soft verdure. 
 
 At the foot of the castle there rises, between several masses 
 of granite, the church dedicated to St. Sulpice, which gives 
 its name to a suburb on the other side of the Nancon. This 
 suburb seems to lie in the bottom of an abyss ; the pointed 
 steeple of its church is not as high as the rocks that seem 
 ready to fall down upon it and its surrounding cottages, which 
 are picturesquely watered by certain branches of the Nancon, 
 shaded by trees and adorned with gardens, These make an 
 irregular indentation in the half-moon described by the prom- 
 enade, the town, and the castle ; and their details are in quaint 
 contrast to the sober-looking amphitheatre which they con- 
 front. The whole town of Fougeres, with its churches and 
 its suburbs, and even the hills of St. Sulpice, has for its frame 
 and setting the heights of Rille, which form a part of the 
 chain of hills that encircle the main valley of the Couesnon. 
 
 Such are the most striking natural features of this country. 
 Its principal characteristic is a rugged wildness, softened by 
 intervals of smiling land, by a happy mingling of the most 
 magnificent works of man with the caprices of a soil vexed 
 by unlooked-for contrasts; by an indescribable something 
 that takes us unawares, that amazes and overawes us. In no 
 other part of France does the traveler meet with contrasts on 
 so magnificent a scale as in this wide valley of the Couesnon 
 and among the dales that are almost hidden between the 
 craggy rocks of Fougeres and the heights of Rille. There is
 
 A DAY WITHOUT A MORROW. 199 
 
 beauty of a rare kind in which chance is the predominating 
 element, but which, for all that, lacks no charm due to the 
 harmony of nature. Here are clear, limpid, rushing streams ; 
 hills clad in the luxuriant vegetation of these districts ; stern 
 masses of rock and shapely buildings ; natural fortifications 
 and towers of granite built by man. Here are all the effects 
 wrought by the play of light and shadow, all the varied hues 
 of different kinds of foliage so highly valued by artists; 
 groups of houses alive with a busy population, and solitary 
 places where the granite scarcely affords a hold to the pale 
 lichens that cling about stone surfaces; here, in short, is 
 every suggestion of beauty or of dread that can be looked for 
 from a landscape a poetry full of constantly renewed magic, 
 of pictures of the grandest kind, and charming scenes of 
 country life. Here is Brittany in its flower. 
 
 The Papegaut's Tower, as it is called, upon which the house 
 occupied by Mile, de Verneuil was built, has its foundations 
 at the very bottom of the precipice, and rises to the level of 
 the esplanade which has been constructed, cornice fashion, in 
 front of St. Leonard's church. The view from this house, 
 which is isolated on three of its sides, includes the great horse- 
 shoe (which has its starting-point in the tower itself), the 
 winding valley of the Nancpon, and the square of St. Leonard. 
 The dwelling is one of a row of houses three centuries old, 
 built of wood, and lying in a parallel line with the north side 
 of the church in such a manner as to form a blind alley with 
 it. The alley opens on to a steep road that passes along one 
 side of the church and leads to the gate of St. Leonard, to- 
 wards which Mile, de Verneuil was descending. 
 
 Marie naturally felt no inclination to go up into the square 
 before the church, beneath which she was standing, so she 
 turned in the direction of the promenade. When she had 
 passed through the little green-painted barrier, which stood 
 before the guardhouse now established in the tower of St. 
 Leonard's gate, the conflict within her was stilled by the sight
 
 200 THE CHOUANS. 
 
 of the wonderful view. She first admired the wide stretch of 
 the main valley of the Couesnon the whole length and 
 breadth of it met her eyes, from the summit of La Pelerine 
 to the level plain, through which the road runs to Vitre. Then 
 her gaze rested upon the Nid-aux-Crocs, upon the winding 
 lines of the valley of Gibarry, and upon the ridges of the 
 hills, bathed as they were in the . glow of the misty sunset. 
 The depth of the valley of the Nancon almost startled her ; 
 the tallest poplars down below scarcely reached the height of 
 the garden walls that lay beneath the Queen's Staircase. On 
 she went, one marvel still succeeding to another, till she 
 reached a point whence she could see the main valley beyond 
 the dale of Gibarry, and the whole lovely landscape was 
 framed by the horseshoe of the town, the crags of St. Sulpice, 
 and the heights of Rill6. 
 
 At that hour of day, the smoke, rising from the houses in 
 the suburbs and the valleys, made wreaths of cloud in the 
 atmosphere ; every object dawned on the sight through a sort 
 of bluish canopy. The garish daylight hues had begun to 
 fade, the tone of the sky changed to a pearly gray, the moon 
 flung its misty light over the depths of the fair land below, 
 all the surroundings tended to steep the soul in musings, and 
 to call up memories of beloved forms. 
 
 Suddenly she lost all interest in the shingle roofs of the sub- 
 urb of St. Sulpice, in its church with the bold spire that was 
 all but swallowed up in the depths of the valley, in the ivy 
 and clematis that had grown for centuries over the walls of 
 the old fortress, whence the Nancon issues, boiling over its 
 mill-wheels, and in all else in the landscape. In vain the sun- 
 set poured a golden dust, and sheets of crimson light over 
 the peaceful dwellings scattered among the rocks, along the 
 stream, and in the meadows far below, she was staring fixedly 
 at the crags of St. Sulpice. The wild hope that had brought 
 her out upon the promenade had been miraculously realized. 
 
 Across the furze and the bushes of broom that grew along
 
 A DAY WITHOUT A MORROW. 201 
 
 the tops of the opposite hillsides, she thought that in spite 
 of their goatskin clothing, she could recognize several of 
 the guests at the Vivetiere. The Gars was conspicuous 
 among them ; his slightest movements stood out against the 
 soft glow of the sunset. Some paces behind the principal 
 group she saw her formidable enemy, Mme. du Gua. For a 
 moment Mile, de Verneuil might have thought that she was 
 dreaming, but her rival's hatred very soon made it plain to 
 her that everything in this dream had life. The rapt atten- 
 tion with which she was watching every slightest gesture on the 
 part of the Marquis prevented her from noticing the care with 
 which Mme. du Gua was aiming a rifle at her. The echoes 
 of the hills rang with the report, and a ball whistling close to 
 Marie revealed her rival's skill to her. 
 
 " She is sending me her card ! " she exclaimed, smiling to 
 herself. In a moment there was a cry in chorus of "Who 
 goes there?" echoed by sentinel after sentinel, all the way 
 from the castle to St. Leonard's gate, which made the Chouans 
 aware of the precautions taken by the Fougerais, since the 
 least vulnerable side of their ramparts was now so well 
 guarded. 
 
 " It is she, and it is he !" said Marie to herself. With the 
 speed of lightning the idea of seeking, tracking, and sur- 
 prising the Marquis flashed across her. " I have no weapon ! " 
 she exclaimed. She bethought herself that, just as she was 
 leaving Paris, she had thrown into a trunk an elegant 
 dagger, a thing that had once belonged to a sultan. She 
 had provided herself with it when she set out for the scene 
 of the war in the same humor which prompts some amusing 
 beings to equip themselves with notebooks, in which to 
 jot down the ideas that occur to them upon a journey. She 
 had been less attracted, however, by the prospect of blood- 
 shed than by the mere pleasure of carrying a beautiful jeweled 
 kandjar, and of playing with the blade, as clean as an eye- 
 glance. Three days ago, when she had sought to kill herself
 
 202 THE CHOUANS. 
 
 to escape her rival's hideous revenge, she had keenly regretted 
 leaving this weapon in her trunk. 
 
 In a moment she reached the house again, found the 
 dagger, thrust it into her belt, muffled a great shawl round 
 about her shoulders, wound a black lace scarf about her hair, 
 covered her head with a large flapping hat, like those worn by 
 the Chouans, which she borrowed from a servant about the 
 house ; and, with the self-possession which the passions some- 
 times bestow, she took up the glove belonging to the Marquis, 
 which Marche-a-Terre had given to her as a safe-conduct. In 
 response to Francine's alarmed inquiries, she replied 
 
 " What would you have ; I would go to hell to look for 
 him .'" and she went back to the promenade. 
 
 The Gars was still there in the same place, but he was alone. 
 From the direction taken by his perspective-glass, he appeared 
 to be scrutinizing with a soldier's minute attention the various 
 fords of the Nan<pon, the Queen's Staircase, and the road that 
 starts from the gate of St. Sulpice, winds by the church, and 
 joins the high road within range of the guns of the castle. Mile. 
 de Verneuil sprang down the narrow paths made by the goat- 
 herds and their flocks upon the slopes of the promenade, gained 
 the Queen's Staircase, reached the foot of the crags, crossed 
 the Nancon, passed through the suburb, found her way in- 
 stinctively, like a bird in the desert among the perilous scarped 
 rocks of St. Sulpice, and very soon reached a slippery track 
 over the granite boulders. In spite of the bushes of broom, 
 the thorny furze, and the sharp loose stones, she began to 
 climb with an amount of energy unknown perhaps in man, 
 but which woman, when completely carried away by passion, 
 possesses for a time. 
 
 Night overtook Marie just as she reached the summit, 
 and tried to discover, by the pale moonlight, the way which 
 the Marquis must have taken. It was a search made per- 
 sistently but without any success. From the silence that pre- 
 vailed throughout the region she gathered that the Chouans
 
 A DAY WITHOUT A MORROW. 203 
 
 and their leader had retired. She suddenly relinquished the 
 effort begun in passion, .along with the hope that had inspired 
 it. She found herself benighted and alone in the midst of 
 a strange country where war was raging ; she began to re- 
 flect, and Hulot's warning and Mine, du Gua's shot made 
 her shudder with fear. The silence of night upon the hills 
 was so deep that she could hear the least rustle of a wander- 
 ing leaf, even a long way off; such faint sounds as these, 
 trembling in the air, gave a gloomy idea of the utter solitude 
 and quiet. 
 
 The wind blew furiously in the sky above, bringing up 
 clouds that cast shadows below ; the effects of alternate 
 light and darkness increased her fears, by giving a fantastic 
 and terrifying appearance to objects of the most harmless 
 kind. 
 
 She turned her eyes towards the houses in Fougeres ; the 
 lights of every household glimmered like stars on earth, and 
 all at once she descried the Papegaut tower. The distance 
 she must traverse in order to reach her dwelling was short 
 indeed, but that distance consisted of a precipice. She had a 
 sufficiently clear recollection of the abysses at the brink of the 
 narrow footpath by which she had come, to see that she would 
 incur greater peril by trying to return to Fougeres than by 
 continuing her enterprise. She reflected that the Marquis' 
 glove would deprive her nocturnal excursion of all its dangers, 
 if the Chouans should be in possession of the country. She 
 had only Mme. du Gua to dread. At the thought of her, 
 Marie clutched her dagger and tried to go in the direction of 
 a house, of the roofs of which she had caught a glimpse as 
 she reached the crags of St. Sulpice. She made but slow 
 progress. Never before had she known the majesty of dark- 
 ness that oppresses a solitary being at night in the midst of a 
 wild country, over which the mountains, like a company of 
 giants, seem to bow their lofty heads. 
 
 The rustle of her dress, caught by the gorse, made her
 
 204 THE CHOUANS. 
 
 tremble more than once ; more than once she quickened her 
 pace, only to slacken it again with the thought that her 
 last hour had come. But circumstances very soon assumed 
 a character, which might perhaps have daunted the boldest 
 men, and which threw Marie into one of those panics that 
 make such heavy demands upon the springs of life within 
 us, that everything, strength as well as weakness, is exagger- 
 ated in the individual. The weakest natures at such times 
 show an unexpected strength ; and the strongest grow frantic 
 with terror. 
 
 Marie heard strange sounds at a little distance. They were 
 vague and distinct at the same time, just as the surrounding 
 night was lighter and darker by turns. They seemed to indi- 
 cate tumult and confusion. She strained her ears to catch 
 them. They rose from the depths of the earth, which 
 appeared to be shaking with the tramp of a great multitude of 
 men on the march. A momentary gleam of light allowed 
 Mile, de Verneuil to see, at a distance of a few paces, a long 
 file of horrid forms swaying like ears of corn in the fields 
 stealing along like goblin shapes. But hardly had she seen 
 them when darkness, like a black curtain, fell again and hid 
 from her this fearful vision full of yellow and glittering eyes. 
 She shrank back and rushed swiftly to the top of a slope, to 
 escape three of these horrible figures that were approach- 
 ing her. 
 
 " Did you see him? " asked one. 
 
 " I felt a cold wind when he passed near me," a hoarse 
 voice replied. 
 
 " I myself breathed the dank air and the smell of a grave- 
 yard," said a third. 
 
 " How pale he is ! " the first speaker began. 
 
 " Why has he returned alone out of all who fell at La 
 Pelerine? " asked the second. 
 
 "Ah, why indeed?" replied the third. "Why should 
 those who belong to the Sacred Heart have the preference?
 
 A DAY WITHOUT A MORROW. 205 
 
 However, I would rather die unconfessed than wander about 
 as he does, neither eating nor drinking, without any blood in 
 his veins or flesh on his bones." 
 
 "Ah!" 
 
 This exclamation, or rather fearful yell, broke from the 
 group as one of the Chouans pointed to the slender form and 
 pallid face of Mile, de Verneuil, who was flying with the 
 speed of fear, while none of them caught the slightest sound 
 of her movements. 
 
 "There he is ! Here he is ! Where is he? There! 
 Here ! He has vanished ! No ! Yes ! Do you see him ? " 
 The words rolled out like the monotonous sound of waves 
 upon the beach. 
 
 Mile, de Verneuil went on bravely towards the house, and 
 saw the dim figures of a crowd which fled away at her approach 
 with every sign of panic-stricken fear. A strange force 
 within her seemed to urge her on ; its influence was over- 
 powering her ; a sensation of corporeal lightness, which she 
 could not understand, was a fresh source of terror to her. 
 The shapes which rose in masses at her approach, as if from 
 under the earth, where they appeared to be lying, gave groans 
 which seemed to have nothing human about them. At last, 
 and not without difficulty, she reached a garden, now lying 
 waste, with all its fencing and hedges broken down. She 
 showed her glove to a sentinel who stopped her. The moon- 
 light fell upon her form, and at the sight the sentinel, who 
 had pointed his carbine at Marie, let the weapon fall from his 
 hand, uttering a hoarse cry that rang through the country 
 round about. 
 
 She saw large masses of buildings, with a light here and 
 there which showed that some of the rooms were inhabited ; 
 and without further let or hindrance she reached the wall of 
 the house. Through the first window towards which she 
 went she beheld Mme. du Gua and the chiefs who had come 
 together at the Vivetiere. This sight, combined with the
 
 206 THE CHOUANS. 
 
 consciousness of the peril she was in, made her reckless. She 
 flung herself violently upon a low opening, covered with 
 massive iron bars, and discerned the Marquis two paces dis- 
 tant from her, melancholy and alone, in a long vaulted hall. 
 The reflections of the firelight from the hearth, before which 
 he was sitting in a cumbrous chair, lighted up his face with 
 flickering hues of red that made the whole scene look like a 
 vision. The poor girl strained herself to the bars, trembling, 
 but otherwise motionless : she hoped that she should hear him 
 if he spoke in the deep silence that prevailed. She saw him 
 looking pale, dejected, and disheartened ; she flattered her- 
 self that she was one of the causes of his melancholy, and 
 her anger turned to sympathy, and sympathy to tenderness ; 
 she suddenly felt that it was not vengeance alone that had 
 drawn her thither. The Marquis rose to his feet, turned his 
 head, and stood bewildered when he beheld Mile, de Verneuil's 
 face as in a cloud there. He made a sign of scorn and impa- 
 tience as he cried, " Must I see that she-devil always before 
 me, even in my waking hours? " 
 
 This intense contempt he had conceived for her drew a 
 frenzied laugh from the poor girl. The young chief shud- 
 dered at it, and sprang to the window. Mile, de Verneuil 
 fled. She heard a man's footsteps behind her, and took her 
 pursuer for Montauran. In her desire to escape from him she 
 discerned no obstacles ; she would have scaled walls or flown 
 through the air ; she could have taken the road to hell if so 
 be she might read no longer, in letters of flame, the words, 
 " He scorns you ! " written upon his forehead words which 
 a voice repeated within her in trumpet tones. After walking 
 on, she knew not whither, she stopped, for a chilly dampness 
 seemed to strike through her. She heard the footsteps of 
 several people, and, impelled by fear, she descended a stair- 
 case that led into an underground cellar. As she reached the 
 lowest step, she listened for the footsteps of the pursuers, try- 
 ing to ascertain their direction ; but though the sounds without
 
 A DAY WITHOUT A MORROW. 207 
 
 were turbulent enough, she could hear the lamentable groans 
 of a human being within, which added to her terrors. 
 
 A streak of light from the head of the staircase led her to 
 fear lest her hiding-place had been discovered by her perse- 
 cutors. Her desire to escape them lent her fresh strength. 
 A few moments later, when her ideas were more collected, she 
 found it very difficult to explain the way in which she had 
 contrived to scramble up the low wall on the top of which she 
 was hiding. At first she did not even notice the cramp which 
 her constrained position caused her to experience ; but the 
 pain at last grew intolerable, for, under the arch of the vault, 
 she was much in the position of a crouching Venus ensconced 
 by some amateur in too narrow a niche. The wall itself was 
 built of granite, and fairly broad ; it separated the staircase 
 from the cellar whence the groans were issuing. She soon 
 saw a stranger clad in goatskins come down the staircase 
 beneath her, and turn under the archway, without the least 
 sign about him to indicate an excited search. In her eager- 
 ness to discover any chance of saving herself, Mile, de Ver- 
 neuil waited anxiously till the cellar was illuminated by the 
 light which the stranger was carrying; then she beheld on 
 the floor a shapeless but living mass, trying to drag itself 
 towards a certain part of the wall by violent and repeated 
 jerks, like the convulsive writhings of a carp that has been 
 drawn from the river and laid on the bank. 
 
 A small resinous torch soon cast a bluish and uncertain light 
 over the cellar. In spite of the romance with which Mile, de 
 Verneuil had invested the groined roof that rang with the 
 sounds of agonizing entreaties, she was compelled to recognize 
 the fact that she was in an underground kitchen which had 
 been long unused. Thus illuminated, the shapeless mass 
 took the form of a short, stout person whose every limb had 
 been carefully tied, but who seemed to have been left on the 
 damp flags of the pavement without any other precaution on 
 the part of those who had seized him.
 
 208 THE CHOUANS. 
 
 At sight of the stranger (who carried a light in one hand 
 and a faggot in the other), the prisoner gave a deep groan, 
 which wrought so powerfully on Mile, de Verneuil's feelings 
 that she forgot her own terror and despair, and the frightful 
 cramp which was benumbing her doubled-up limbs ; she could 
 scarcely keep herself still. The Chouan flung down his faggot 
 upon the hearth, after assuring himself of the solidity of an 
 old pothook which hung down the whole length of a sheet of 
 cast iron, and set the wood alight with his torch. Mile, de 
 Verneuil then recognized, not without alarm, the cunning 
 Pille-Miche, to whom her rival had assigned her. His form, 
 lighted up by the flames, looked very like one of the tiny 
 grotesque figures that Germans carve in wood. A broad grin 
 overspread his furrowed and sunburnt face at the wails that 
 went up from his prisoner. 
 
 "You see," he remarked to the sufferer, "that Christians 
 such as we are do not go back on our words as you do. This 
 fire here will take some of the stiffness out of your legs, and out 
 of your hands and tongue too. But hold on ! I do not see 
 a dripping-pan to put under your feet, and they are so fat that 
 they might put the fire out. Your house must be very badly 
 furnished when you cannot find everything in it to make the 
 master thoroughly comfortable when he is warming himself." 
 
 At this the victim uttered a piercing shriek, as if he hoped 
 that his voice would rise above the arched roof, and bring 
 some one to his rescue. 
 
 "Sing away as much as you like, M. d'Orgemont ! They 
 have all gone to bed upstairs, and Marche-a-Terre is coming ; 
 he will shut the cellar door." 
 
 As he spoke, Pille-Miche rapped the butt end of his carbine 
 over the mantelpiece, the flags on the kitchen floor, the walls 
 and the stoves, trying to discover the place where the miser 
 had hidden his gold. The search was so cleverly conducted 
 that d'Orgemont did not utter a further sound. He seemed 
 possessed by the fear that some frightened servant might have
 
 A DAY WITHOUT A MORROW. 209 
 
 betrayed him ; for though he had trusted nobody, his habits 
 might have given rise to very well-grounded suspicions. From 
 time to time Pille-Miche turned sharply and looked at his 
 victim, as in the children's game, when they try to guess from 
 the unconscious expression of one of their number the spot 
 where he has hidden a given object as they move hither and 
 thither in search of it. D'Orgemont showed some alarm for 
 the Chouan's benefit when he struck a hollow sound from the 
 stoves, and seemed to have a mind to divert Pille-Miche's 
 credulous greed in this way for a time. 
 
 Just then three other Chouans came running down the stair- 
 case, and suddenly entered the kitchen. Pille-Miche aban- 
 doned his search when he saw Marche-a-Terre, flinging a glance 
 at d'Orgemont with all the ferocity that his disappointed ava- 
 rice had aroused in him. 
 
 " Marie Lambrequin has come to life again ! " said Marche- 
 a-Terre, with a preoccupation that showed how all other inter- 
 ests faded away before such a momentous piece of news. 
 
 " I am not surprised at that," answered Pille-Miche; "he 
 took the sacrament so often ! He seemed to have le bon Dieu 
 all to himself." 
 
 "Aha!" remarked Mene-a-Bien. "But it is of no more 
 help to him now than shoes to a dead man. He did not re- 
 ceive absolution before that business at La Pelerine, and there 
 he is. He misguided that girl of Gogelu's, and was weighed 
 down by a mortal sin. Besides that, the Abbe Gudin told us 
 he would have to wait a couple of months before he could 
 come back for good. We saw him go along in front, every 
 man jack of us. He is white, and cold, and he flits about; 
 there is the scent of the grave about him." 
 
 " And his reverence assured us that if the ghost could catch 
 hold of anybody, he would make just such another of him," 
 the fourth Chouan put in. 
 
 The wry face of the last speaker aroused Marche-a-Terre 
 from religious musings prompted by the newly-wrought mira- 
 14
 
 210 THE CHOLANS. 
 
 cle, which, according to the Abbe Gudin, might be icnewed 
 for every pious champion of religion and royalty. 
 
 "Now you see, Galope-Chopine," he said to the neophyte, 
 with a certain gravity, "what comes of the slightest omission 
 of the duties commanded by our holy religion. St. Anne of 
 Auray counseled us not to pass over the smallest faults among 
 ourselves. Your cousin Pille-Miche has asked for the surveillance 
 of Fougeres for you ; the Gars has intrusted you with it, and 
 you will be well paid. But you, perhaps, know the sort of 
 flour we knead into bread for traitors? " 
 
 "Yes, M. Marche-a-Terre." 
 
 " Do you know why I tell you that ? There are folk who 
 hint that you have a hankering after cider and round pence ; 
 but there is to be no feathering of your nest, you are to be 
 our man now." 
 
 "With all due respect, M. Marche-a-Terre, cider and pence 
 are two good things which do not in any wise hinder salva- 
 tion." 
 
 "If my cousin makes any blunders," said Pille-Miche, "it 
 will be for want of knowing better." 
 
 "No matter how it happens," cried Marche-a-Terre in a 
 voice that shook the roof, "if anything goes wrong, I shall 
 not let him off. You shall answer for him," he added to 
 Pille-Miche; " if he gets himself into trouble, I will take it 
 out of the lining of your goatskins." 
 
 "But, asking your pardon, M. Marche-a-Terre," Galope- 
 Chopine began, " hasn't it often happened to you yourself to 
 mistake Centre- Chums for Chuins ? ' ' 
 
 "My friend," replied Marche-a-Terre in a dry tone of 
 voice, "do not let that happen to you again, or I will slice 
 you in two like a turnip. Those who are sent out by the Gars 
 will have his glove. But since this affair at the Vivetiere, the 
 Grande-Garce fastens a green ribbon to it." 
 
 Pille-Miche jogged his comrade's elbow sharply, pointing 
 out d'Orgemont, who was pretending to sleep; but Marche-a-
 
 A DAY WITHOUT A MORROW. 211 
 
 Terre and Pille-Miche knew by experience that no one had 
 ever yet slept by the side of their fire, and though the last re- 
 marks to Galope-Chopine had been spoken in low tones, yet 
 the sufferer might have understood them ; so all four of the 
 Chouans looked at him for a moment, and no doubt con- 
 cluded that fear had deprived him of the use of his senses. 
 Suddenly Marche-a-Terre gave a slight sign ; Pille-Miche 
 drew off d'Orgemont's shoes and stockings, Mene-a-Bien and 
 Galope-Chopine seized him by the waist and carried him to 
 the hearth. Next Marche-a-Terre took a band from the fag- 
 got and bound the miser's feet to the pot-hook. All these 
 proceedings, together with the incredible quickness of their 
 movements, forced cries from the victim, which grew heart- 
 rending when Pille-Miche had heaped up the glowing coals 
 under his legs. 
 
 "My friends, my good friends," cried d'Orgemont, "you 
 will hurt me ! I am a Christian as you are." 
 
 "You are lying in your throat," answered Marche-a-Terre. 
 "Your brother denied the existence of God, and you your- 
 self bought the Abbey of Juvigny. The Abbe Gudin says 
 that we may roast apostates without scruple." 
 
 " But my brethren in religion, I do not refuse to pay you," 
 cried d'Orgemont. 
 
 " We gave you two weeks, and now two months have 
 passed, and Galope-Chopine here has received nothing." 
 
 "Then you have received nothing, Galope-Chopine?" 
 asked the miser in despair. 
 
 " Nothing whatever, M. d'Orgemont." replied the alarmed 
 Galope-Chopine. 
 
 The cries which had become a continuous kind of growl, 
 like the death-rattle of a dying man, began afresh with 
 extraordinary violence. The Chouans were as much used to 
 this kind of scene as to seeing dogs go about without shoes ; 
 and were looking on so cooly while d'Orgemont writhed and 
 yelled, that they might have been travelers waiting round the
 
 212 THE CHOUANS. 
 
 fire in an inn-kitchen until the joint is sufficiently roasted to 
 eat. 
 
 " I am dying ! I am dying ! " cried the victim, "and you 
 will not have my money." 
 
 Violent as his outcries were, Pille-Miche noticed that the 
 fire had not yet scorched him ; it was stirred therefore in a 
 very artistic fashion, so as to make the flames leap a little 
 higher. At this, d'Orgemont said in dejected tones 
 
 " Untie me, my friends. What do you want ? A hundred 
 crowns? A thousand? Ten thousand? A hundred thou- 
 sand? I offer you two hundred crowns." 
 
 His tone was so piteous that Mile, de Verneuil forgot her 
 own danger, and an exclamation broke from her. 
 
 "Who spoke?" asked Marche-a-Terre. 
 
 The Chouans cast uneasy glances about them. The very 
 men who were so courageous under a murderous fire from the 
 cannon's mouth dared not face a ghost. Pille-Miche alone 
 heard with undivided attention the confession which increas- 
 ing torments wrung from his victim. 
 
 "Five hundred crowns. Yes, I will pay it!" said the 
 miser. 
 
 "Pshaw! Where are they?" calmly responded Pille- 
 Miche." 
 
 " Eh ? Oh, they are under the first apple tree. Holy 
 Virgin I At the end of the garden, to the left. You are 
 bandits ! You are robbers ! Oh ! I am dying. There are 
 ten thousand francs there." 
 
 " I will not take francs," said Marche-a-Terre ; " they must 
 be livres. Your Republican crowns have heathen figures on 
 them. They will never pass." 
 
 "It is all in livres, in good louis d'or. But let me loose, 
 let me loose. You know where my life is, my hoard ! " 
 
 The four Chouans looked at each other, considering which 
 of their number could be trusted with the errand of unearth- 
 ing the money. But just then their ferocious cruelty had so
 
 A DAY WITHOUT A MORROW. 213 
 
 revolted Mile, de Verneuil, that although she could not be 
 sure that the role assigned to her by her pale face would still 
 preserve her from danger, she cried bravely in a deep tone of 
 voice, "Do you not fear the wrath of God? Unbind him, 
 you savages!" 
 
 The Chouans looked up. They saw eyes that shone like 
 stars in mid-air, and fled in terror. Mile, de Verneuil sprang 
 down into the kitchen, ran up to d'Orgemont, and drew him 
 from the fire with such energy that the faggot band snapped, 
 then with the blade of her dagger she cut the cords with 
 which he was bound. As soon as the miser was liberated and 
 stood on his feet, the first expression that crossed his face was 
 a dolorous but sardonic smile. "Off with you!" he said; 
 " go to the apple-tree, brigand ! Ho ! ho ! This is the 
 second time that I have hoodwinked them, and they shall not 
 get hold of me a third time ! " 
 
 Just then a woman's voice sounded without. "A ghost !" 
 cried Mme. du Gua. "A ghost! Idiots! It is she! A 
 thousand crowns to any one who will bring that harlot's head 
 to me !" 
 
 Mme. de Verneuil turned pale, but the miser smiled. He 
 took her hand, drew her under the mantel-board of the chim- 
 ney, and saw that she left no least trace of her passage by 
 leading her round in such a way that the fire, which took up 
 but a little space, was not disturbed. He pressed a spring, the 
 sheet of cast-iron rose ; and before their foes came back into 
 the cellar, the heavy door of their hiding-place had slipped 
 noiselessly back again. Then the fair Parisian understood the 
 carp-like struggles which had been made by the luckless 
 banker, and to which she had been a witness ; then she under- 
 stood the object of Mille-Piche's vain search in the kitchen. 
 
 "You see, madame ! " cried Marche-a-Terre. "The ghost 
 has taken the Blue for his comrade." 
 
 Great must their alarm have been, for such a dead cilence 
 followed his words that d'Orgemont and his companion could
 
 214 THE CHOUANS. 
 
 hear the Chouans muttering, " Ave, sancta Anna Aurica gratia 
 plena, Dominus tecum," and so forth. 
 
 "The simpletons are saying their prayers!" exclaimed 
 d'Orgemont. 
 
 "Are you not afraid," said Mile, de Verneuil to her com- 
 panion, "of making known our hiding-place? " 
 
 The old miser's laugh dispelled the Parisian girl's fears. 
 
 " The plate is set in a slab of granite ten inches thick. We 
 can hear them, but they cannot hear us." He then gently 
 took the hand of his deliverer, and led her towards a crevice 
 through which the fresh breeze came in whiffs; she guessed 
 that this opening had been contrived in the shaft of the 
 chimney. 
 
 " Aha !" d'Orgemont began again. " The devil ! My legs 
 smart a bit. That ' Filly of Charette's,' as they call her at 
 Nantes, is not such a fool as to gainsay those faithful believers 
 of hers. She knows very well that if they were not so be- 
 sotted, they would not fight against their own interests. There 
 she is praying along with them. It must be a pretty sight to 
 see her saying her Ave to St. Anne of Auray ! She would be 
 better employed in plundering a coach so as to pay me back 
 those four thousand francs that she owes me. What with the 
 costs and the interest, it mounts up to quite four thousand seven 
 hundred and forty-five francs, and some centimes over." 
 
 Their prayer ended, the Chouans rose from their knees and 
 went. Old d'Orgemont squeezed Mile, de Verneuil's hand 
 byway of apprising her that, nevertheless, danger still existed. 
 
 ''No, madame," cried Pille-Miche after a pause of a few 
 minutes, " you might stop here for ten years. They will not 
 come back." 
 
 " But she has not gone out ; she must be here ! " persisted 
 "Charette's Filly." 
 
 " No, no, madame ; they have flown right through the 
 walls. Did not the devil, once 'before, fly away from here 
 with a priest who had taken the oath under our eyes? "
 
 A DAY WITHOUT A MORROW. 215 
 
 " You are a miser as he is, Pille-Miche, and yet you cannot 
 see that the old niggard might very probably spend some 
 thousands of livres in making a recess in the foundations of 
 these vaults, with a secret entrance to it." 
 
 The girl and the miser heard the guffaw that broke from 
 Pille-Miche. " Very true ! " he said. 
 
 "Stop here," Mme. du Gua went on. "Lie in wait for 
 them as they come out. For one single shot, I will give you 
 all that you will find in our usurer's treasury. If you want 
 me to pardon you for selling that girl, after I had told you to 
 kill her, you must obey me." 
 
 " Usurer ! " said old d'Orgemont, " and yet I only charged 
 her nine per cent, on the loan. I had a mortgage, it is true, 
 as a security. But now you see how grateful she is ! Come, 
 madame ; if God punishes us for doing ill, the devil is here 
 to punish us for doing well ; and man's position between 
 these two extremities, without any notion of what the future 
 may be, always looks, to my thinking, like a sum in propor- 
 tion, wherein the value of x is undiscoverable. " 
 
 He heaved a hollow-sounding sigh which was peculiar to 
 him ; for his breath as it passed through his larynx seemed 
 to come in contact with and to strike two aged and relaxed 
 vocal chords. The sounds made by Pille-Miche and Mme. 
 du Gua as they tried the walls, the vaulted roof, and the 
 pavement seemed to reassure d'Orgemont; he took his deliv- 
 erer's hand to help her to climb a narrow spiral staircase, 
 hollowed in the thickness of the granite rock. When they 
 had come up a score of steps the faint glow of a lamp 
 lighted up their faces. The miser stopped and turned to his 
 companion, looking closely at her face as if he had been 
 gazing upon and turning over and over some doubtful bill to 
 be discounted. He heaved his terrible sigh. 
 
 "When I brought you here," he said, after a moment's 
 pause, " I completely discharged the obligation under which 
 you laid me ; so I do not see why I should give "
 
 216 THE CHOUANS.\ 
 
 "Leave me here, sir; I want nothing of you," she said. 
 
 Her last words, and possibly also the contempt visible in 
 the beautiful face, reassured the little old man, for he went on, 
 after a fresh sigh 
 
 " Ah ! when I brought you here, I did too much not to go 
 through with it " 
 
 He politely helped Marie to climb some steps, arranged in 
 a somewhat peculiar fashion, and brought her, half-willingly, 
 half-reluctantly, into a little closet, four feet square, lighted 
 by a lamp that hung from the roof. It was easy to see that 
 the miser had made every preparation for spending more than 
 one day in this retreat, in case the exigencies of civil war 
 compelled him to make some stay there. 
 
 " Don't go near the wall ! you might get covered with 
 white dust," d'Orgemont exclaimed suddenly, as he thrust his 
 hand hastily between the girl's shawl and the wall, which 
 seemed to be newly whitewashed. The old miser's action 
 produced an exactly opposite effect to the one intended. 
 Mile, de Verneuil looked straight in front of her at once, and 
 saw a sort of construction in a corner. A cry of terror broke 
 from her as she remarked its shape, for she thought that 
 some human being had been put there in a standing position. 
 and had been covered with plaster. D'Orgemont made a 
 menacing sign, imposing silence upon her, and his own little 
 china-blue eyes showed as much alarm as his companion's. 
 
 " Foolish girl ! " cried he ; " did you think I had murdered 
 him? That is my brother," he said, and there was a melan- 
 choly change in his sigh. " He was the first rector to take 
 the oath, and this was the one refuge where he was safe from 
 the fury of the Chouans and of his fellow-priests. To perse- 
 cute such a well-regulated man as that ! He was my elder 
 brother; he had the patience to teach me the decimal system, 
 he and no other. Oh ! he was a worthy priest ! He was 
 thrifty, and knew how to save. He died four years ago. I 
 do not know what his disease was; but these priests, you see,
 
 A DAY WITHOUT A MORROW. 217 
 
 have a habit of kneeling in prayer from time to time, and 
 possibly he could never get used to the standing porition here, 
 as I myself have done. I put him here ; otherwise they would 
 have disinterred him. Some day I may be able to bury him 
 in consecrated earth, as the poor fellow used to say, for he 
 only took the oath through fear." 
 
 A tear filled the hard eyes of the little old man. His red 
 wig looked less ugly to the girl, who turned her own eyes 
 away with an inward feeling of reverence for his sorrow ; but 
 notwithstanding his softened mood, d'Orgemont spoke again. 
 " Do not go near the wall, or you " 
 
 He did not take his gaze off Mile, de Verneuil's eyes, for 
 in this way he hoped to prevent her from scrutinizing the 
 partition walls of the closet, in which the scanty supply of air 
 hardly sufficed for the requirements of breathing. Yet Marie 
 managed to steal a glance round about her, undetected by her 
 Argus, and from the peculiar protuberances in the walls she 
 inferred that the miser had built them himself out of bags of 
 gold and silver. 
 
 In another moment, d'Orgemont was seized with a strange 
 kind of ecstasy. The painful smarting sensation in his legs, 
 and his apprehensions at the sight of a human being among 
 his treasures, were plainly to be seen in every wrinkle ; but, at 
 the same time, there was an unaccustomed glow in his dry 
 eyes ; a generous emotion was aroused in him by the danger- 
 ous proximity of his neighbor, with the pink and white cheeks 
 that invited kisses, and the dark velvet-like glances ; so that 
 the hot blood surged to his heart in such a way that he hardly 
 knew whether it betokened life or death. 
 
 " Are you married ? " he asked in a faltering voice. 
 
 "No," she answered, smiling. 
 
 " I have a little property," he said, heaving his peculiar 
 sigh, "though I am not so rich as they all say I am. A 
 young girl like you should be fond of diamonds, jewelry, car- 
 riages, and gold," he added, looking about him in a dismayed
 
 218 THE CHOUANS. 
 
 fashion. " I have all these things to give you at my death. 
 And if you liked " 
 
 There was so much calculation in the old man's eyes, even 
 while this fleeting fancy possessed him, that while she shook 
 her head, Mile, de Verneuil could not help thinking that the 
 miser had thought to marry her, simply that he might bury his 
 secret in the heart of a second self. 
 
 " Money " she said, with an ironical glance at d'Orgemont 
 that left him half-pleased, half- vexed, "money is nothing to 
 me. If all the gold that I have refused were here, you would 
 be three times richer than you are." 
 
 "Don't go near the wall " 
 
 "And yet nothing was asked of me but one look," she 
 went on with indescribable pride. 
 
 " You were wrong. It was a capital piece of business. 
 Just think of it " 
 
 "Think that I have just heard a voice sounding here," 
 broke in Mile, de Verneuil, "and that one single syllable of 
 it has more value for me than all your riches." 
 
 " You do not know how much " 
 
 Before the miser could prevent her, Marie moved with her 
 finger a little colored print, representing Louis XV. on horse- 
 back, and suddenly saw the Marquis beneath her, engaged in 
 loading a blunderbus. The opening concealed by the tiny 
 panel, over which the print was pasted, apparently corre- 
 sponded with some ornamental carving on the ceiling of the 
 next room, where the Royalist general had no doubt been 
 sleeping. D'Orgemont slid the old print back again with 
 extreme heedfulness, and looked sternly at the young girl. 
 
 " Do not speak a word, if you value your life ! It is no 
 cockle-shell that you have grappled," he whispered in her 
 ear, after a pause. " Do you know that the Marquis of 
 Montauran draws a revenue of more than a hundred thousand 
 livres from the rents of estates which have not yet been sold ? 
 And the consuls have just issued a decree putting a stop to the
 
 A DAY WITHOUT A MORROW. 219 
 
 sequestrations. I saw it in the paper, in the ' Primidi de 
 rille-et-Vilaine.' Aha ! the Gars there is a prettier man now, 
 is he not? Your eyes are sparkling like two new louis d'ors." 
 
 Mile, de ~Verneuil's glances had become exceedingly ani- 
 mated when she heard afresh the sounds of the voice that she 
 knew so well. Since she had been standing there, buried as 
 it were in a mine of wealth, her mind, which had been over- 
 whelmed by these occurrences, regained its elasticity. She 
 seemed to have made a sinister resolve, and to have some idea 
 of the method of carrying it out. 
 
 " There is no recovering from such contempt as that," she 
 said to herself; " and if he is to love me no more, I will kill 
 him ! No other woman shall have him ! " 
 
 "No, Abbe, no!" cried the young chief, whose voice 
 made itself heard ; "it must be so." 
 
 " My Lord Marquis," the Abbe Gudin remonstrated stiffly, 
 " you will scandalize all Brittany by giving this ball at Saint 
 James. Our villages are not stirred up by dancers, but by 
 preachers. Have some small arms, and not fiddles." 
 
 " Abbe, you are clever enough to know that only in a gen- 
 eral assembly of all our partisans can I see what I can under- 
 take with them. A dinner seems to give a better opportunity 
 of scrutinizing their countenances, and of understanding their 
 intentions, than any possible espionage, which is moreover 
 abhorrent to me. We will make them talk, glass in hand." 
 
 Marie trembled when she heard these words, for the idea 
 of going to the ball, and of there avenging herself, occurred 
 to her. 
 
 " Do you take me for an idiot, with your sermon against 
 dancing?" Montauran went on. "Would not you yourself 
 figure in a chaconne very willingly to find yourself re-estab- 
 lished under your new name of ' Fathers of the Faith.' Do 
 you really not know that Bretons get up from mass to have a 
 dance ? Do you really not know that Messieurs Hyde, de 
 Neuville and d'Andigne had a conference with the First Con-
 
 220 THE CHOUANS. 
 
 sul, five days ago, over the question of restoring his majesty, 
 Louis XVIII. ? If I am preparing at this moment to venture 
 so rash a stroke, it is only to make the weight of our iron- 
 bound shoes felt in these deliberations. Do you not know 
 that all the chiefs in La Vendee, even Fontaine himself, are 
 talking of submission ? Ah ! sir, the princes have clearly 
 been misled as to the condition of things in France. The 
 devotion which people tell them about is the devotion of 
 place-men. Abb6, if I have dipped my feet in blood, I will 
 not wade waist-deep in it without knowing wherefore. My 
 devotion is for the King, and not for four crack-brained 
 enthusiasts, for men overwhelmed with debt like Rifoel, for 
 chauffers and " 
 
 " Say it straight out, sir, for abbes who collect imposts on 
 the highways so as to carry on the war ! ' ' interrupted the 
 Abbe Gudin. 
 
 "Why should I not say it ? " the Marquis answered tartly. 
 " I will say more the heroic age of La Vendee is past." 
 
 "My Lord Marquis, we shall know how to work miracles 
 without your aid." 
 
 "Yes, like the miracle in Marie Lambrequin's case," the 
 Marquis answered, smiling. " Come, now, Abbe, let us have 
 done with it. I know that you yourself do not shrink from 
 danger, and you bring down a ' Blue ' or say your ' oremus ' 
 equally well. God helping me, I hope to make you take a 
 part in the coronation of the King with a mitre on your 
 head." 
 
 This last phrase certainly had a magical effect upon the 
 Abb, for there sounded the ring of a rifle, and he cried 
 
 "I have fifty cartridges in my pockets, my Lord Marquis, 
 and my life is at the King's service." 
 
 " That is another debtor of mine," the miser said to Mile. 
 deVerneuil. " I am not speaking of a paltry five or six hundred 
 crowns which he borrowed of me, but of a debt of blood, 
 which I hope will be paid in full. The fiendish Jesuit will
 
 A DAY WITHOUT A MORROW. 221 
 
 never have as much evil befall him as I wish him ; he swore 
 that my brother should die, and stirred up the district against 
 him. And why ? Because the poor man had been afraid of 
 the new laws ! " 
 
 He put his ear to a particular spot in his hiding-place. 
 "All the brigands are making off," he said. "They are 
 going to work some other miracle. If only they do not 
 attempt to set fire to the house, as they did last time, by way 
 of a good-bye ! " 
 
 For another half-hour or thereabouts Mile, de Verneuil and 
 d'Orgemont looked at each other, as each of them might 
 have gazed at a picture. Then the gruff, coarse voice of 
 Galope-Chopine called in a low tone, "There is no more 
 danger now, M. d'Orgemont. My thirty crowns have been 
 well earned this time ! " 
 
 "My child," said the miser, "swear to me that you will 
 shut your eyes." 
 
 Mile, de Verneuil laid one of her hands over her eyelids ; 
 but for greater security, the old man blew out the lamp, took 
 his deliverer by the hand, and assisted her to descend seven or 
 eight steps in an awkward passage. After a few minutes, he 
 gently drew down her hand, and she saw that she was in the 
 miser's own room, which the Marquis of Montauran had just 
 vacated. 
 
 " You can go now, my dear child," said the miser. " Do 
 not look about you in that way. You have no money, of 
 course. See, here are ten crowns ; clipped ones, but still they 
 will pass. When you are out of the garden, you will find a 
 footpath which leads to the town, or the district, as they call 
 it nowadays. But as the Chouans are at Fougeres, it is not 
 to be supposed that you could return thither at once; so you 
 may stand in need of a safe asylum. Do not forget what I 
 am going to tell you, and only take advantage of it in dire 
 necessity. You will see a farmhouse beside the road which 
 runs through the dale of Gibarry to the Nid-aux-Crocs. Big
 
 222 THE CHOUANS. 
 
 Cibot (called Galope-Chopine) lives there. Go inside, and 
 say to his wife, ' Good-day, Becaniere ! ' and Barbette will 
 hide you. If Galope-Chopine should find you out, he will 
 take you for a ghost, if it is night ; and if it is broad daylight, 
 ten crowns will mollify him. Good-bye ! Our accounts are 
 squared. If you liked," he added, with a wave of the hand, 
 that indicated the fields that lay round about his house, " all 
 that should be yours ! " 
 
 Mile, de Verneuil gave a grateful glance at this strange 
 being, and succeeded in wringing a *sigh from him, with 
 several distinct tones in it. 
 
 " You will pay me back my ten crowns, of course ; I say 
 nothing about interest, as you note. You can pay them to 
 the credit of my account, to Master Patrat, the notary in 
 Fougeres, who, if you should wish it, would draw up our 
 marriage contract. Fair treasure ! Good-bye." 
 
 "Good-bye," said she, with a smile, as she waved her 
 hand to him. 
 
 " If you require any money," he called to her, " I will lend 
 it to you at five per cent. ! Yes, only five. Did I say five?" 
 But she had gone. 
 
 "She looks to me like a good sort of girl," d'Orgemont 
 continued ; " but for all that, I shall make a change in the 
 secret contrivance in my chimney." 
 
 Then he took a loaf that weighed twelve pounds, and a 
 ham, and returned to his hiding-place. 
 
 As Mile, de Verneuil walked in the open country, she felt 
 as though life had begun anew. The chilly morning air 
 against her face revived her, after so many hours during 
 which she had encountered a close atmosphere. She tried to 
 find the footpath that the miser had described ; but after the 
 setting of the moon, the darkness grew so dense, that she was 
 compelled to go as chance determined. Very soon the dread 
 of falling over a precipice took possession of her, and this 
 saved her life, for she suddenly stopped with a presentiment
 
 A DAY WITHOUT A MORROW. 223 
 
 that if she went a step further she should find no earth 
 beneath her feet. A breath of yet colder wind which played 
 in her hair, the murmur of streams, and her own instinct, told 
 her that she had come to the brink of the crags of St. Sulpice. 
 She cast her arms about a tree, and waited in keen anxiety 
 for the dawn, for she heard sounds of armed men, human 
 voices, and the trampling of horses. She felt thankful to the 
 darkness which was preserving her from the peril of falling 
 into the hands of the Chouans, if, as the miser had told her, 
 they were surrounding Fougeres. 
 
 A faint purple light, like the beacon-fires lighted at night 
 as the signal of Liberty, passed over the mountain-tops ; but 
 the lower slopes retained their cold bluish tints in contrast 
 with the dewy mists that drifted over the valleys. Very soon 
 a disc of ruby red rose slowly on the horizon, the skies felt 
 its influence, the ups and downs of the landscape, the spire of 
 St. Leonard's church, the crags and the meadows hidden in 
 deep shadow gradually began to appear, the trees perched 
 upon the heights stood out against the fires of dawn. With a 
 sudden gracious start the sun unwound himself from the 
 streamers of fiery red, of yellow and sapphire, that surrounded 
 him. The brilliant light united one sloping hillside to another 
 by its level beams, and overflowed valley after valley. The 
 shadows fled away, and all nature was overwhelmed with day- 
 light. The air trembled with a fresh breeze, the birds sang, 
 and everything awoke to life again. 
 
 But the young girl had barely had sufficient time to look 
 down over the main features of this wonderful landscape, 
 when by a frequently recurring phenomenon in these cool 
 parts of the world the mists arose and spread themselves in 
 sheets, filling the valleys, and creeping up the slopes of the 
 highest hills, concealing this fertile basin under a cloak-like 
 snow. Very soon Mile, de Verneuil could have believed that 
 she beheld a view of a mer de glace, such as the Alps furnish. 
 Then this atmosphere of cloud surged like the waves of the
 
 224 THE CHOLANS. 
 
 sea, flinging up opaque billows which softly poised themselves, 
 swayed or eddied violently, caught bright rosy hues from the 
 shafts of sunlight, or showed themselves translucent here and 
 there as a lake of liquid silver. Suddenly the north wind 
 blew upon this phantasmagoria, and dispelled the mists, which 
 left a rusty dew on the sward. 
 
 Mile, de Verneuil could then see a huge brown patch, 
 situated on the rocks of Fougeres seven or eight hundred 
 armed Chouans were hurrying about in the suburb of St. Sul- 
 pice, like ants on an ant-hill. The immediate neighborhood 
 of the castle was being furiously attacked by three thousand 
 men who were stationed there, and who seemed to have 
 sprung up by magic. The sleeping town would have yielded, 
 despite its venerable ramparts and hoary old towers, if Hulot 
 had not been on the watch. A concealed battery on a height, 
 in the midst of the hollow basin formed by the ramparts, 
 answered the Chouans' first volley, taking them in flank upon 
 the road that led to the castle. The grape-shot cleared the 
 road and swept it clean. Then a company made a sortie from 
 the St. Sulpice gate, took advantage of the Chouans' surprise, 
 drew themselves up upon the road, and opened a deadly fire 
 upon them. The Chouans did not attempt to resist when 
 they saw the ramparts covered with soldiers, as if the art of 
 the engineer had suddenly traced blue lines about them, 
 while the fire from the fortress covered that of the Republican 
 sharp-shooters. 
 
 Other Chouans, however, had made themselves masters of 
 the little valley of the Nancon, had climbed the rocky gal- 
 leries, and reached the promenade, to which they mounted 
 till it was covered with goatskins, which made it look like the 
 time-embrowned thatch of a hovel. Loud reports were heard 
 at that very moment from the quarter of the town that over- 
 looks the Couesnon valley. Fougeres was clearly surrounded, 
 and attacked at all points. A fire which showed itself on the 
 eastern side of the rock showed that the Chouans were even
 
 A DAY WITHOUT A MORROW. 225 
 
 burning the suburbs ; but the flakes of fire that sprang up 
 from the shingle roofs or the broom thatch soon ceased, and 
 a few columns of dark smoke showed that the conflagration 
 was extinguished. 
 
 Black and brown clouds once more hid the scene from Mile, 
 de Verneuil, but the wind soon cleared away the smoke of the 
 powder. The Republican commandant had already changed 
 the direction of his guns, so that they could bear successively 
 upon the length of the valley of the Nancon, upon the Queen's 
 Staircase, and the rock itself, when from the highest point of 
 the promenade he had seen his first orders admirably carried 
 out. Two guns by the guard-house of St. Leonard's gate 
 were mowing down the ant-like swarms of Chouans who had 
 seized that position, while the National Guard of Fougeres, 
 precipitating themselves into the square by the church, were 
 completing the defeat of the enemy. The affair did not last 
 half an hour, and did not cost the Blues a hundred men. 
 The Chouans, discomfited and defeated, were drawing off 
 already in all directions, in obedience to repeated orders from 
 the Gars, whose bold stroke had come to nothing (though he 
 did not know this) in consequence of the affair at the Vive- 
 tiere, which had brought back Hulot, in secret, to Fougeres. 
 The artillery had only arrived there during this very night ; 
 for the mere rumor that ammunition was being transported 
 thither would have sufficed to make Montauran desist from 
 an enterprise, which, if undertaken, could only have a disas- 
 trous result. 
 
 As a matter of fact, Hulot had as much desire to give a 
 severe lesson to the Gars as the Gars could have had to gain a 
 success, in the moment he had selected, to influence the de- 
 terminations of the First Consul. At the first cannon-shot 
 the Marquis knew that it would be madness to carry this fail- 
 ure of a surprise any further from motives of vanity. So, to 
 prevent a useless slaughter of his Chouans, he hastened to 
 send out seven or eight messengers bearing orders to operate 
 15
 
 226 THE CHOUANS. 
 
 a prompt retreat at every point. The commandant, seeing 
 his antagonist with a number of advisers about him, of whom 
 Mme. de Gua was one, tried to send a volley over to them 
 upon the rocke of St. Sulpice, but the place had been selected 
 too cleverly for the young chief not to be in security. Hulot 
 changed his tactics all at once from the defensive to the ag- 
 gressive. At the first movements which revealed the intentions 
 of the Marquis, the company which was posted beneath the 
 walls of the castle, set themselves to work to cut off the 
 Chouans' retreat by seizing the outlets at the upper end of 
 the Nan$on valley. 
 
 In spite of her animosity, Mile, de Verneuil's sympathies 
 were with the side on which her lover commanded. She 
 turned quickly to see if the passage was free at the lower end. 
 But she saw the Blues, who had no doubt been victorious on 
 the other side of Fougeres, returning from the Couesnon valley, 
 through the dale of Gibarry, so as to seize the Nid-aux-Crocs, 
 and that portion of the crags of St. Sulpice where the lower 
 exits from the Nancon valley were situated. The Chouans, 
 thus shut up in the narrow space of meadow at the bottom of 
 the ravine, seemed certain to be cut off to a man ; so accu- 
 rately had the old Republican commandant foreseen the event, 
 and so skilfully had he laid his plans. But the cannons, which 
 had done Hulot such good service, were powerless upon either 
 point. A desperate struggle began, and the town of Fourgeres 
 once safe, the affair assumed the character of an engagement 
 to which the Chouans were accustomed. 
 
 Then Mile, de Verneuil understood the presence of the 
 large bodies of men which she had come upon in the open 
 country, the meeting of the chiefs in d'Orgemont's house, 
 and all the occurrences of the previous night, and was unable 
 to account for her escape from so many perils. This enter- 
 prise, suggested by despair, had so keen an interest for her, 
 that she stood motionless, watching the moving pictures that 
 spread themselves beneath her eyes. The fighting that went
 
 A DAY WITHOUT A MORROW. 227 
 
 on at the foot of the hills of St. Sulpice soon had yet another 
 interest for her. When the Marquis and his friends saw that 
 the Chouans were almost at the mercy of the Blues, they 
 rushed to their assistance down the Nangon valley. The foot 
 of the crags was covered with a crowd, composed of furious 
 groups who were fighting out the issues of life and death 
 both the weapons and the ground being in favor of the goat- 
 skins. Imperceptibly the shifting battlefield expanded its 
 limits. The Chouans scattered themselves and gained posses- 
 sion of the rocks, thanks to the help of the shrubs which grew 
 here and there. A little later Mile, de Verneuil was startled by 
 the sight of her foes once more upon the summits, where they 
 strenuously defended the perilous footpaths by which they had 
 come. 
 
 As every passage on the hill was now in the possession of one 
 side or the other, she was afraid of finding herself in among 
 them. She left the great tree behind which she had been 
 standing, and took to flight, meaning to take advantage of 
 the old miser's advice. After she had hastened for some 
 time along the slope of the hills of St. Sulpice which over- 
 looks the main valley of the CouSsnon, she saw a cow-shed in 
 the distance, and concluded that it must be one of the out- 
 buildings about Galope-Chopine's house, and that he must 
 have left his wife by herself while the fighting went forward. 
 Encouraged by these conjectures, Mile, de Verneuil hoped to 
 be well received in the dwelling, and to be allowed to spend 
 a few hours there, until it should be possible to return to 
 Fougeres without danger. To all appearance, Hulot would 
 gain the day. The Chouans were flying rapidly, so that she 
 heard gunshots all about her, and the fear of being struck by 
 a stray ball led her to reach the cottage, whose chimney served 
 as a landmark, without delay. The path which she followed 
 led to a sort of cart-shed. Its roof, thatched with broom, 
 was supported by the trunks of four great trees which still 
 retained their bark. There was a wall of daub and wattle at
 
 228 THE CHOUANS. 
 
 the back of it. In the shed itself there was a cider-press, a 
 threshing-floor for buckwheat, and some plowing apparatus. 
 She stopped short beside one of the posts, hesitating to cross 
 the miry swamp, that did duty for a yard before this house, 
 which afar off, she, like a true Parisian, had taken for a cow- 
 shed. 
 
 The cabin, sheltered from the blasts of the north wind by 
 a knoll that rose above its roof, and against which it was built, 
 was not destitute of a certain poetry of its own, for saplings 
 and heather and rock flowers hung in wreaths and garlands 
 about it. A rustic staircase contrived between the shed and 
 the house allowed its inmates to ascend the heights of the 
 knoll to breathe the fresh air. To the left of the cabin the 
 knoll fell away abruptly, so that a succession of fields was 
 visible, the first of which belonged in all probability to this 
 farm. A border of fine copse-wood ran round these fields, 
 which were separated by banks of earth, upon which trees had 
 been planted. The nearest field completely surrounded the 
 yard. The way thither was closed by the huge half-rotten 
 trunk of a tree, a barrier peculiar to Brittany, called by a 
 name, which later on will furnish a final digression on the char- 
 acteristics of the country. Between the staircase that had 
 been cut in the rock, and the track which was closed by the 
 great log, and beneath the overhanging rocks stood the 
 cottage, with the swamp before it. The four corners of the 
 hovel were built of roughly hewn blocks of granite, laid one 
 over another, thus maintaining the wretched walls in position. 
 These were built up of a mixture of earthen bricks, beams of 
 wood, and flintstones. Half of the roof was covered with 
 broom, in the place of straw thatch, and the other half with 
 shingles, or narrow boards cut in the shape of roofing slates, 
 showing that the house consisted of two parts ; and, as a 
 matter of fact, one part, divided off by a crazy hurdle, served 
 as a byre, while the owners lived in the other division. 
 
 Owing to the near vicinity of the town, there were im-
 
 A DAY WITHOUT A MORROW. 229 
 
 provements about this cabin which would be completely 
 lacking anywhere two leagues further away ; and yet it 
 showed very plainly the insecure condition of life to which 
 wars and feudal customs had so rigorously subjected the 
 habits of the serf, that even to-day many of the peasants 
 in these parts still call the chateau in which their landlords 
 dwell "the house." 
 
 Mile, de Verneuil studied the place with an amazement 
 that can readily be imagined, and at last she noticed a 
 broken block of granite here and there in the mire of the 
 yard, arranged to afford a method of access to the dwell- 
 ing, not unattended with danger. But, hearing the sounds 
 of musketry drawing appreciably nearer, she sprang from 
 stone to stone, as if she were crossing a river, to ask for shel- 
 ter. Entrance to the house was barred by one of those doors 
 that are made in two separate pieces ; the lower part being of 
 solid and substantial timber, while the upper portion was pro- 
 tected by a shutter, which served as a window. Shop-doors 
 in certain little towns in France are often made on this model, 
 but they are much more elaborate, and the lower portion is 
 supplied with an alarm bell. The lower half of this particu- 
 lar door was opened by unfastening a wooden latchet worthy 
 of the golden age, while the upper part was only closed during 
 the night, since the daylight entered the room through no 
 other opening. A rough sort of window certainly existed, 
 but the panes were like bottle ends, and the massive leaden 
 frames which supported them took up so much room that the 
 window seemed to be intended rather to intercept the light 
 than to afford a passage to it. 
 
 As soon as Mile, de Verneuil had made the door turn on its 
 creaking hinges, she encountered an alarming ammoniacal 
 odor which issued in whiffs from the cottage, and saw how 
 the cattle had kicked to pieces the partition wall that divided 
 them from the house-place. So the inside of the farmhouse 
 (for such it was) was quite in keeping with the outside. Mile.
 
 230 THE CHOUANS. 
 
 de Verneuil was asking herself how it was possible that human 
 beings should live in such confirmed squalor, when a tiny 
 ragged urchin, who seemed to be about eight or nine years 
 old, suddenly showed a fresh pink and white face, plump 
 cheeks, bright eyes, ivory teeth, and fair hair that fell in 
 tangled locks over his half-naked shoulders. His limbs were 
 sturdy, and in his attitude there was the charm of wonder, 
 and the wild simplicity that makes a child's eyes grow larger. 
 The little lad's beauty was of the heroic order. 
 
 "Where is your mother? " said Marie in a gentle tone, as 
 she stooped down to kiss his eyes. 
 
 After receiving the kiss, the child slipped away like an eel 
 and disappeared behind a manure heap which lay between the 
 path and the house, upon the slope of the knoll. Galope- 
 Chopine was wont, like many other Breton farmers (who have 
 a system of agriculture peculiar to them), to pile manure in 
 high situations, so that by the time they come to use it, the 
 rain has washed all the goodness out of it. 
 
 Marie, being left in possession of the cabin for some min- 
 utes, quickly made an inventory of its contents. The whole 
 house consisted of the one room in which she was waiting for 
 Barbette. The most conspicuous and pretentious object was 
 a vast fireplace, the mantelpiece being made out of a single 
 slab of blue granite. The etymology of the word " mantel- 
 piece " was made apparent by a scrap of green serge, bor- 
 dered with pale-green ribbon, and scalloped at the edges, 
 which was hanging along the slab, in the midst of which 
 stood a colored plaster cast of the Virgin. On the base of 
 the statuette, Mile, de Verneuil read a couple of lines of re- 
 ligious poetry which are very widely popular in the district : 
 
 " Protectress of this place am I, 
 The Mother of God who dwells on high." 
 
 Behind the Virgin there was a frightful picture splashed 
 over with red and blue, a pretence of a painting that repre-
 
 A DAY WITHOUT A MORROW. 231 
 
 sented St. Labre. A bed covered with green serge, of the 
 kind called tomb-shaped, a clumsy cradle, a wheel, some 
 rough chairs, and a carved dresser, fitted up with a few uten- 
 sils, almost completed the list of Galope-Chopine's furniture. 
 Before the window there was a long table and a couple of 
 benches made of chestnut wood ; the light that fell through 
 the panes of glass gave them the deep hues of old mahogany. 
 Beneath the bung-hole of a great hogshead of cider Mile, de 
 Verneuil noticed a patch of moist yellowish thick deposit. 
 The dampness was corroding the floor, although it was made 
 of blocks of granite set in red clay, and [proved that the 
 master of the abode had come honestly by his Chouan nick- 
 name.* 
 
 Mile, de Verneuil raised her eyes to avoid this sight, and it 
 seemed to her forthwith that she had seen all the bats in the 
 world so numerous were the spiders' webs that hung from the 
 beams. Two huge pitchers, filled with cider, were standing 
 on the long table. These utensils are a sort of brown earthen- 
 ware jug of a pattern which is still in use in several dis- 
 tricts in France, and which a Parisian can imagine for himself 
 by thinking of the pots in which epicures serve Brittany 
 butter j but the body of the jug is rounder, the glaze is 
 unevenly distributed, and shaded over with brown splashes, 
 like certain shells. The pitcher ends in a mouth of a kind 
 not unlike the head of a frog thrust out above the water to 
 take the air. The two pitchers had attracted Marie's atten- 
 tion last of all ; but the sound of the fight grew more and 
 more distinct, and compelled her to look about for a suit- 
 able hiding-place without waiting for Barbette, when the 
 latter suddenly appeared. 
 
 " Good-day, Bcaniere," she said, repressing an involun- 
 tary smile at the sight of a face that rather resembled the 
 heads which architects set, by way of ornament, in the centres 
 of window arches. 
 
 * Galope-Chopine, literally, Toss-pot. Translator's note.
 
 232 THE CHOUANS. 
 
 "Aha! you come from d'Orgemont," answered Barbette 
 with no particular eagerness. 
 
 " Where will you put me? For the Chouans are here " 
 
 " There ! " said Barbette, as much at a loss at the sight of 
 the beauty as well as of the eccentric attire of a being whom 
 she did not venture to include among her own sex. " There ! 
 In the priest's hole! " 
 
 She took her to the head of the bed, and put her between 
 it and the wall ; but both of them were thunder-struck just 
 then, for they thought they could hear strange footsteps hurry- 
 ing through the swamp. Barbette had scarcely time to draw 
 one of the bed-curtains and to huddle Marie in it before she 
 found herself face to face with a fugitive Chouan. 
 
 " Good-wife, where can one hide here? I am the Comte 
 de Bauvan." 
 
 Mile, de Verneuil trembled as she recognized the voice of 
 the dinner-guest, who had spoken the few words (still a mys- 
 tery for her) which had brought about the catastrophe at the 
 Vivetiere. 
 
 "Alas! monseigneur, you see there is nothing here ! The 
 best thing I can do is to go ; but I will watch, and if the 
 Blues are coming I will give you warning. If I were to stop 
 here, and they found me with you, they would burn my house 
 down." 
 
 So Barbette went out, for she had not wit enough to recon- 
 cile the opposing claims of two foes, each of whom had 
 an equal right to the hiding-place, by virtue of the double 
 part her husband was playing. 
 
 "I have two shots to fire," said the Count despairingly, 
 " but they have gone past me already. Pshaw ! I should be 
 unlucky, indeed, if the fancy were to take them to look under 
 the bed as they come back. 
 
 He gently leaned his gun against the bed-post, beside 
 which Marie stood wrapped about with the green serge cur- 
 tain. Then he stooped down to make quite sure that he could
 
 A DAY WITHOUT A MORROW. 233 
 
 creep under the bed. He could not have failed to see the 
 feet of the other refugee, who in the desperation of the 
 moment snatched up his gun, sprang quickly out into the 
 room, and threatened the Count with it. A peal of laughter 
 broke from him, however, as he recognized her ; for, in order 
 to hide herself, Marie had taken off her enormous Chouan 
 hat, and thick locks of her hair were escaping from beneath a 
 sort of net of lace. 
 
 " Do not laugh, Count ; you are my prisoner. If you 
 make any movement, you shall know what an incensed woman 
 is capable of." 
 
 Just as the Count and Marie were looking at each other 
 with widely different feelings, confused voices were shouting 
 among the rocks, "Save the Gars! Scatter yourselves! 
 Save the Gars ! Scatter yourselves ! " 
 
 Barbette's voice rose above the uproar without, and was 
 heard by the two foes inside the cottage with very different 
 sensations, for she was speaking less to her own son than to 
 them. 
 
 "Don't you see the Blues?" Barbette cried tartly. 
 
 " Come here, you naughty little lad, or I will go after you ! 
 Do you want to get shot? Come, run away quickly." 
 
 While all these small events were rapidly taking place, a 
 Blue dashed into the swamp. 
 
 " Beau-Pied ! " called Mile, de Verneuil. 
 
 At the sound of her voice Beau-Pied ran up and took a 
 somewhat better aim at the Count than his deliverer had done. 
 
 " Aristocrat," said the waggish soldier, " do not stir, or I 
 will bring you down like the Bastille, in a brace of shakes." 
 
 " Monsieur Beau-Pied," said Mile, de Verneuil in persua- 
 sive tones, " you are answerable to me for this prisoner. Do 
 it in your own way, but you must deliver him over to me at 
 Fougeres safe and sound." 
 
 " Enough, madame ! " 
 
 " Is the way to Fougeres clear by now ?"
 
 234 THE CHOUANS. 
 
 "It is safe, unless the Chouans come to life again." 
 
 Mile, de Verneuil cheerfully equipped herself with the 
 light fowling-piece, gave her prisoner an ironical smile as she 
 remarked, " Good-bye, Monsieur le Comte, we shall meet 
 again ! " and went swiftly up the pathway, after putting on 
 her great hat again. 
 
 " I am learning a little too late," said the Comte de Bauvan 
 bitterly, " that one should never jest concerning the honor 
 of women who have none left." 
 
 "Aristocrat," cried Beau-Pied with asperity, ''say nothing 
 against that beautiful lady, if you do not wish me to send you 
 to your ci-devant paradise." 
 
 Mile, de Verneuil returned to Fougeres by the paths which 
 connect the crags of St. Sulpice with the Nid-aux-Crocs. 
 When she reached these latter heights and hastened along the 
 winding track which had been beaten out over the rough sur- 
 face of the granite, she admired the lovely little Nancon 
 valley, but lately so fall of tumult, now so absolutely peaceful. 
 Seen from that point of view, the glen looked like a green 
 alley. Mile, de Verneuil returned by way of St. Leonard's 
 gate, where the narrow path came to an end. 
 
 The townspeople were still in anxiety about the struggle ; 
 which, judging by the firing that they heard in the distance, 
 seemed likely to last through the day. They were awaiting 
 the return of the National Guard to know the full extent of 
 their losses. When this girl appeared in her grotesque 
 costume, with her hair disheveled, a gun in her hand, her 
 dress and shawl drenched with dew, soiled by contact with 
 walls, and stained with mud, the curiosity of the people of 
 Fougeres was all the more vividly excited since the authority, 
 beauty, and eccentricity of the fair Parisian already furnished 
 the stock subject of their conversation. 
 
 Francine had sat up all night waiting for her mistress, a 
 prey to horrible misgivings, so that on her return she wished to 
 talk, but silence was enjoined upon her by a friendly gesture.
 
 A DAY WITHOUT A MORROW. 235 
 
 "I am not dead, child," said Marie. "Ah! when I left 
 Paris I longed for emotions and I have had them," she 
 added after a pause. Francine went out to order a meal, 
 remarking to her mistress that she must be in great need of it. 
 
 " Oh, no," said Mile, de Verneuil, " but a bath, a bath ! 
 The toilet before everything else." 
 
 It was with no small degree of astonishment that Francine 
 heard her mistress asking for the most fashionable and elegant 
 dresses that had been packed for her. 
 
 After her breakfast, Marie made her toilet with all the 
 minute care and attention that a woman devotes to this most 
 important operation, when she is to appear before the eyes of 
 her beloved in the midst of a ballroom. Francine could not 
 account in any way for her mistress' mocking gaiety. There 
 was none of the joy of love in it no woman can make a 
 mistake as to that expression there was an ill-omened and 
 concentrated malice about her. With her own hands Marie 
 arranged the curtains about the windows, through which her 
 eyes beheld a magnificent view. Then she drew the sofa 
 nearer to the fire, set it in a light favorable to her face, and 
 bade Francine bring flowers, so as to impart a festival appear- 
 ance to the room. When Francine had brought the flowers, 
 Marie superintended her arrangement of them to the best 
 advantage. After casting a final glance of satisfaction round 
 her apartment, she ordered Francine to send some one to 
 demand her prisoner of the commandant. 
 
 She lay back luxuriously upon the sofa, partly to rest herself, 
 and partly in order to assume a graceful and languid pose, 
 which in certain women exerts an irresistible fascination. 
 There was an indolent softness about her ; the tips of her feet 
 scarcely escaped from beneath the folds of her dress in a pro- 
 voking manner ; the negligence of her attitude, the bend of 
 her neck everything, down to the curves of her slender 
 fingers that drooped over a cushion like the bells of a spray 
 of jessamine, was in unison with her glances, and possessed
 
 236 THE CHOUANS. 
 
 an attractive influence. She burned perfumes so that the air 
 was permeated with the sweet fragrance that acts so power- 
 fully on the nerves, and frequently prepares the way for con- 
 quests which women desire to make without any advance on 
 their part. A few moments later the heavy tread of the 
 old commandant was heard in the ante- chamber. 
 
 " Well, commandant, where is my captive? " 
 
 " I have just ordered out a picket of a dozen men to 
 shoot him, as he was taken with arms in his hands." 
 
 " You have disposed of my prisoner ! " said she. " Listen, 
 commandant. If I read your countenance rightly, there can 
 be no great satisfaction for you in the death of a man after 
 the engagement is over. Very well, then ; give me back my 
 Chouan, and grant him a reprieve. I will take the responsi- 
 bility upon myself. I must inform you that this aristocrat has 
 become indispensable to me, and with his co-operation our 
 projects will be accomplished. Moreover, it would be as 
 ridiculous to shoot this amateur Chouan as to fire on a 
 balloon, for the prick of a pin is all that is needed to bring 
 about its entire collapse. Leave butchery to the aristocrats, 
 for heaven's sake. Republics should show themselves to be 
 magnanimous. Would not you yourself have granted an 
 amnesty to the victims at Quiberon and to many others? 
 Now, then, send your dozen men to make the rounds, and 
 come and dine with me and my prisoner. There is only 
 an hour of daylight left, and you see," she added, smiling, 
 " that if you delay, my toilet will lose all its effect. " 
 
 " But, mademoiselle " said the astonished commandant. 
 
 "Well, what is it? I understand you. Come, the Comte 
 will not escape you. Sooner or later the portly butterfly 
 yonder will scorch himself beneath the fire of your platoons." 
 
 The commandant slightly shrugged his shoulders, like a man 
 who is compelled to submit, against his own judgment, to the 
 whims of a pretty woman. He returned in the space of half 
 an hour, followed by the Comte de Bauvan.
 
 A DAY WITHOUT A MORROW. 237 
 
 Mile, de Verneuil made as though her two guests had taken 
 her by surprise, and appeared to be in some confusion at 
 being detected by the Count in so careless an attitude ; but 
 when she had seen, from that gentleman's eyes, that a first 
 effect had been produced upon him, she rose and gave her 
 whole attention to her visitors with perfect politeness and 
 grace. There was nothing either constrained or studied in 
 her attitude, in her smile, her voice or her manner, nothing 
 that betrayed a premeditated design. Everything about her 
 was in agreement ; there was no touch of exaggeration which 
 could give an impression that she was assuming the manners 
 of a world with which she was not familiar. 
 
 When the Royalist and the Republican were both seated, 
 she looked at the Count with an expression of severity. The 
 nobleman understood women sufficiently well to know that the 
 affront that he had offered to her was likely to be his own death- 
 warrant. But in spite of this misgiving, and without show- 
 ing either melancholy or levity, he behaved like a man who 
 did not look for such a sudden catastrophe. It soon appeared 
 to him that there was something ridiculous about fearing death 
 in the presence of a pretty woman, and Marie's severe looks 
 had put some ideas into his head. 
 
 "Eh!" thought he. "Who knows whether a Count's 
 coronet still to be had will not please her better than the 
 coronet of a Marquis which has been lost ? Montauran is as 
 
 hard as a nail, while I " and he looked complacently at 
 
 himself. " At any rate, if I save my life, that is the least that 
 may come of it." 
 
 These diplomatic reflections were all to no purpose. The 
 penchant which the Count intended to feign for Mile, de Ver- 
 neuil became a violent fancy, which that dangerous being was 
 pleased to encourage. 
 
 "You are my prisoner, Count," she said, "and I have the 
 right to dispose of you. Your execution will only take place
 
 238 THE CHOUANS. 
 
 with my consent ; and I have too much curiosity to allow you 
 to be shot at once." 
 
 " And suppose that I maintain an obstinate silence?" he 
 answered merrily. 
 
 " With an honest woman perhaps you might, but with a 
 light one ! Come now, Count, that is impossible." 
 
 These words, full of bitter irony, were hissed at him " from 
 so sharp a whistle" (to quote Sully's remark concerning the 
 Duchess of Beaufort), that the astonished noble could find 
 nothing better to do than to gaze at his cruel opponent. 
 
 " Stay," she went on with a satirical smile," not to gainsay 
 you, I will be a ' good girl,' like one of those creatures. Here 
 is your gun, to begin with," and she held out his weapon to 
 him with mock amiability. 
 
 " On the faith of a gentleman, mademoiselle, you are 
 doing " 
 
 "Ah! " she broke in, "I have had enough of 'the faith 
 of a gentleman ! ' On that security I set foot in the Vive- 
 tiere. Your chief swore that I and mine should be in safety 
 
 "What infamy ! " exclaimed Hulot with a scowl. 
 
 " It is the Count here who is to blame," she said, addressing 
 Hulot, and indicating the noble. The Gars certainly in- 
 tended to keep his word ; but this gentleman put some slander 
 or other in circulation, which confirmed the stories which it 
 had pleased Charette's Filly to imagine about me." 
 
 "Mademoiselle," said the Count in dire distress, with the 
 axe hanging over him, "I will swear that I said nothing but 
 the truth" 
 
 " And what did you say ? " 
 
 "That you had been the- 
 
 " Speak out ! The mistress ? " 
 "Of the Marquis of Lenoncourt, the present Duke, and a 
 friend of mine," the Count made answer. 
 
 " Now, I might let you go to your death," said Marie, who
 
 DAY WITHOUT A MORROW. 239 
 
 was apparently unmoved by the Count's circumstantial accusa- 
 tion. The indifference, real or feigned, with which she 
 regarded its opprobrium amazed the Count. "But," she 
 continued, laughing, " you can dismiss forever the ominous 
 vision of those leaden pellets, for you have no more given 
 offence to me than to that friend of yours to whom you are 
 pleased to assign me as fie on you ! Listen to me, Count, 
 did you never visit my father, the Due de Verneuil ? Very 
 well then " 
 
 Considering, doubtless, that the confidence which she was 
 about to make was so important that Hulot must be excluded 
 from it, Mile, de Verneuil beckoned the Count to her, and 
 whispered a few words in his ear. A stifled exclamation of 
 surprise broke from M. de Bauvan : he looked at Marie in a 
 bewildered fashion ; she was leaning quietly against the 
 chimney-piece, and the childish simplicity of her attitude 
 suddenly brought back the whole of the memory which she 
 had partially called up. The Count fell on one knee. 
 
 "Mademoiselle," he cried, "I entreat you to grant my 
 pardon, although I may not deserve it." 
 
 " I have nothing to forgive," she said. "You are as irra- 
 tional now in your repentance as you were in your insolent 
 conjectures at the Vivetiere. But these mysteries are above 
 your intelligence. Only," she added gravely, " you must 
 know this, Count, that the daughter of the Due de Verneuil 
 has too much magnanimity not to feel a lively interest in your 
 fortunes. ' ' 
 
 "Even after an insult?" said the Count, with a sort of 
 remorse. 
 
 " Are there not some who dwell so high that they are 
 above the reach of insult? I am of their number, Count." 
 
 The dignity and pride in the girl's bearing as she uttered 
 these words impressed her prisoner, and made this affair con- 
 siderably more obscure for Hulot. The commandant's hand 
 traveled to his moustache, as though to turn it up at the ends,
 
 240 THE CHOUANS. 
 
 while he looked on uneasily. Mile, de Verneuil gave him a 
 significant glance, as if to assure him that she was not devi- 
 ating from her plan. 
 
 "Now, let us have some talk," she went on, after a pause. 
 " Bring us some lights, Francine, my girl." 
 
 Skilfully she turned the conversation on the times, which, 
 in the space of so few years, had come to be the "ancient 
 regime." She carried the Count back to those days so thor- 
 oughly, by the keenness of her observations and the vivid 
 pictures she called up ; she gave him so many opportunities 
 of displaying his wit, by conducting her own replies with 
 dexterous and gracious tact, that the Count ended by making 
 the discovery that never before had he been so agreeable. He 
 grew young again at the thought, and endeavored to com- 
 municate his own good opinion of himself to this attractive 
 young person. The mischievous girl amused herself by try- 
 ing all her arts of coquetry upon the Count, doing this all the 
 more dexterously, because, for her, it was only a game. 
 Sometimes she led him to believe that he was making rapid 
 progress in her regard ; sometimes she appeared to be taken 
 aback by the warmth of her own feelings ; and displayed, in 
 consequence, a reserve that fascinated the Count, and which 
 visibly helped to fan his extemporized flame. She behaved 
 exactly like an angler who lifts his rod from time to time to 
 see if the fish is nibbling at the bait. The poor Count allowed 
 himself to be caught by the innocent way in which his deliv- 
 erer received two or three rather neatly turned compliments. 
 Emigration, the Republic, and the Chouans were a thousand 
 leagues away from his thoughts. 
 
 Hulot sat bolt upright, motionless and pensive as the god 
 Terminus. His want of education made him totally unapt at 
 this kind of conversation. He had a strong suspicion that the 
 two speakers must be a very witty pair; but the efforts of his 
 own intellect were confined to ascertaining that their ambigu- 
 ous words contained no plotting against the Republic.
 
 A DAY WITHOUT A MORROW. 241 
 
 " Montauran, mademoiselle," the Count was saying," is 
 well-born and well-bred ; he is a pretty fellow enough ; but 
 he understands nothing of gallantry. He is too young to 
 have seen Versailles. His education has been deficient ; he 
 does not play off one shrewd turn with another ; he gives a 
 stab with the knife instead. He can fall violently in love, 
 but he will never attain to that fine flower of manner which 
 distinguished Lauzun, Adhemar, Coigny, and so many others. 
 He has no idea of the agreeable art of saying to women those 
 pretty nothings, which are better suited to them, after all, 
 than outbursts of passion, which they very soon find wearisome. 
 Yes, although he may have made conquests, he has neither 
 grace nor ease of manner." 
 
 "I saw that clearly," Marie replied. 
 
 " Ah ! " said the Count to himself, "there was a note in 
 her voice and a look that shows that it will not be long before 
 I am on the best of terms with her ; and faith ! I will believe 
 anything she wishes me to believe, in order to be hers." 
 
 Dinner was served ; he offered his arm. Mile, de Verneuil 
 did her part as hostess with a politeness and tact which could 
 only have been acquired by an education received in the 
 exclusive life of a court. 
 
 " Leave us," she said to Hulot, as they left the table, "he 
 is afraid of you ; while, if I am left alone with him, I shall 
 very soon learn everything that I wish to know ; he has 
 reached the point when a man tells me everything that he 
 thinks, and sees things only through my eyes." 
 
 "And after that?" asked the commandant, who seemed 
 thus to reassert his claim to the prisoner. 
 
 " Oh ! he will go free," she said, " free as the air. 
 
 "But he was taken with arms in his hands " 
 
 " No, he was not," said she, " for I had disarmed him," a 
 jesting sophistry such as women love to oppose to sound but 
 arbitrary reasoning. 
 
 "Count," she said, as she came in again, "I have just 
 16
 
 242 THE CHOUANS. 
 
 obtained your freedom; but nothing for nothing ! " she went 
 on, smiling, and turning her head questioningly to one side. 
 
 " Ask everything of me that you will, even my name and 
 my honor!" he cried, in his intoxication, "I lay it all at 
 your feet." And he came near to seize her hand, in his 
 endeavor to impose his desires upon her as gratitude, but 
 Mile, de Verneuil was not a girl to make a mistake of this 
 kind. So, while she smiled upon this new lover, so as to give 
 him hope 
 
 "Will you make me repent of my confidence in you?" she 
 said, drawing back a step or two. 
 
 "A girl's imagination runs faster than a woman's," he 
 answered, laughing. 
 
 " A girl has more to lose than a woman." 
 
 "True, if one carries a treasure, one must needs be sus- 
 picious." 
 
 " Let us leave this kind of talk," she answered, " and speak 
 seriously. You are giving a ball at St. James. I have heard 
 that you have established your magazines there, and your ar- 
 senals, and made it the seat of your government. When is 
 the ball?" 
 
 " To-morrow night." 
 
 "It will not astonish you, sir, that a slandered woman 
 should wish, with feminine persistency, to obtain a signal rep- 
 aration for the insults to which she has been subjected, and 
 this in the presence of those who witnessed them. So I will 
 go to your ball. What I ask of you is to grant me your pro- 
 tection from the moment of my arrival to the moment of my 
 departure. I do not want your word for it," she said, seeing 
 that he laid his hand on his heart. " I hold vows in abhor- 
 rence ; they seem to me too like precautions. Simply tell me 
 that you undertake to secure me against any infamous and 
 criminal attempts upon my person. Promise to repair your 
 own error by giving out everywhere that I am really the 
 daughter of the Due de Verneuil ; keeping silence, at the
 
 A DAY WITHOUT A MORROW. 243 
 
 same time, about the misfortunes which I owe to the lack of 
 a father's protecting care ; and then we shall be quits. Eh ! 
 Can a couple of hours' protection extended to a woman in a 
 ballroom be too heavy a ransom ? Come, come, you are not 
 worth a penny more than that," and a smile deprived her 
 words of any bitterness. 
 
 "What will you demand for my gun?" laughed the 
 Count. 
 
 " Oh ! more than I do for you yourself." 
 
 "What is it?" 
 
 "Secrecy. Believe me, Bauvan, only a woman can read 
 another woman. I am positive that if you breathe a word 
 of this, I may lose my life on the way thither. One or two 
 balls yesterday warned me of the risks which I must encounter 
 on the journey. Oh ! that lady is as expert with a rifle as she 
 is dexterous in assisting at the toilet. No waiting-woman ever 
 undressed me so quickly. Pray manage things so that I may 
 have nothing of that kind to fear at the ball." 
 
 "You will be under my protection," the Count replied 
 proudly. "But perhaps it is for Montauran's sake that you 
 are coming to Saint James? " 
 
 " You wish to know more than I do myself," she said, 
 laughing. " You must go, now," she added, after a pause. " I 
 myself will be your conductor until you are out of the town, 
 for you have made the war one of cannibals, here." 
 
 "But you take some interest in me," cried the Count. 
 " Ah ! mademoiselle, allow me to hope that you will not be 
 insensible to my friendship ; for I must be content with that, 
 must I not ? " he added, with the air of a coxcomb. 
 
 "Come now, conjuror," she said, with the blithe expres- 
 sion that a woman can assume when she makes an admission 
 that neither betrays her real feelings nor compromises her 
 dignity. She put on her pelisse, and went with the Count as 
 far as the Nid-aux-Crocs. When they reached the beginning 
 of the footpath, she said
 
 244 THE CHOUANS. 
 
 " Maintain an absolute reserve, sir, even with the Marquis," 
 and she laid a finger on her lips. The Count, emboldened 
 by Mile, de Verneuil's graciousness, took her hand ; she suf- 
 fered him to do so, like one who grants a great privilege, and 
 he kissed it tenderly. 
 
 "Oh, mademoiselle," he cried, when he saw that he was 
 quite out of danger, "you can reckon upon me through life 
 and death ? Since I owe you a debt of gratitude almost as 
 great as that which I owe to my own mother, it will be very 
 hard to feel nothing more than esteem for you." 
 
 He sprang down the pathway. Marie watched him as he 
 scaled the crags of St. Sulpice, and nodded approvingly, as 
 she murmured to herself 
 
 " That fine fellow yonder has paid me for his life more than 
 the worth of his life. I could make him my creature at a 
 very small cost ! A creature and a creator ! There lies the 
 whole difference between one man and another ! She went 
 no further with her thought. She gave a despairing look at 
 the sky above her, and slowly returned to St. Leonard's Gate, 
 where Hulot and Corentin were waiting for her. 
 
 " Yet two more days," she cried ; then she checked herself, 
 seeing that they were not alone, and whispered the rest in 
 Hulot's ears " and he shall drop down beneath your fire." 
 
 With a peculiar jocose expression not easy to describe, the 
 commandant suddenly drew back a step and looked at the 
 girl before him there was not a shadow of remorse in her 
 face or bearing. It is wonderful how women, generally speak- 
 ing, never reason over their most blameworthy actions ; they 
 are led entirely by their feelings ; there is a kind of sincerity 
 in their very dissimulation, and only among women is crime 
 dissociated from baseness ; for, for the most part, they them- 
 selves do not know how the thing has come about. Hulot 
 was still further amazed to hear her say 
 
 " I am going to Saint James, to a ball given by the Chouans, 
 and "
 
 A DAY WITHOUT A MORROW. 245 
 
 "But that is five leagues away from here," Corentin put in. 
 "Shall I escort you?" 
 
 " You are very much taken up," said she, " with something 
 that I never think about at all that is to say, yourself." 
 
 The contempt for Corentin which Marie had displayed was 
 eminently gratifying to Hulot, who made his peculiar grimace 
 as he watched her disappear in the direction of St. Leonard. 
 Corentin's eyes likewise followed her; but from his face it was 
 evident that he suppressed the consciousness of a superior 
 power which he thought to exercise over this charming 
 woman's destiny ; he meant so to control her by means of 
 her passions that one day she should be his. 
 
 Mile, de Verneuil, on her return, betook herself at once to 
 considering her ball dress. Francine, quite accustomed to 
 obedience, though she did not understand the ends which her 
 mistress had in view, ransacked the trunks, and suggested a 
 Greek costume. Everything at that time took its tone from 
 ancient Greece. This rich toilet, which received Marie's 
 approval, could be packed in a trunk that could easily be 
 carried. 
 
 "I am setting out on a wild errand, Francine, child; 
 think whether you would rather stay here or go with me? " 
 
 " Stay here ! " cried Francine ; "if I did, who would dress 
 you?" 
 
 " Where have you put the glove that I gave you this morn- 
 ing?" 
 
 " Here it is ! " 
 
 " Sew a bit of green ribbon upon it ; and before all things, 
 do not forget to take some money." 
 
 But when she saw that Francine had newly coined money 
 in her hand, she exclaimed, " That in itself would be the 
 death of us ! Send Jeremiah to arouse Corentin. No, the 
 villain would follow us ! It would be better to send to the 
 commandant to ask him for some crowns of six francs each, 
 forme."
 
 246 THE CHOUANS. 
 
 Marie thought of everything down to the smallest detail, 
 with a woman's foresight. While Francine completed the 
 preparations for her incomprehensible -journey, she occupied 
 herself with trying to imitate the cry of the screech-owl, and 
 succeeded in imitating Marche-a-Terre's signal in a manner 
 that baffled detection. At midnight she passed out through 
 St. Leonard's Gate, reached the narrow footpath along the 
 Nid-aux-Crocs ; and, with Francine following her, she ven- 
 tured across the dale of Gibarry. She walked with a firm 
 step; for so strong a will as that which stirred within her 
 invests the body and its movements with an indescribable 
 quality of power. For women, the problem how to leave a 
 ballroom without catching a cold is of no small importance ; 
 but when their hearts are once possessed by passion, their 
 frames might be made of iron. Even a bold man would have 
 hesitated over such an enterprise ; but scarcely had Mile, de 
 Verneuil begun to feel the attractions of the prospect, when 
 its dangers became so many temptations for her. 
 
 "You are setting out without a prayer for God's protec- 
 tion," said Francine, who had turned to look at St. Leonard's 
 spire. 
 
 The devout Breton girl stopped, clasped her hands, and 
 said her Ave to St. Anne of Auray, beseeching her to prosper 
 their journey, while her mistress stood waiting, deep in 
 thought, gazing alternately at the childlike attitude of her 
 maid, who was praying fervently, and at the effects of the 
 misty moonlight, as it fell over the carved stone-work about 
 the church, giving to the granite the look of delicate filagree. 
 
 In no long time the two women reached Galope-Chopine's 
 cottage. Light as were the sounds of their footsteps, they 
 aroused one of the huge dogs that, in Brittany, are intrusted 
 with the safe-keeping of the door, a simple wooden latch 
 being the only fastening in vogue. The dog made a rush at 
 the two strangers, and his bark became so furious that they 
 were compelled to retreat a few paces and to call for help.
 
 A DAY WITHOUT A MORROW. 247 
 
 Nothing stirred, however. Mile, de Verneuil gave the cry of 
 the screech-owl, and then the rusty hinges of the cabin-door 
 creaked loudly all at once, and Galope-Chopine, who had 
 risen in haste, showed his gloomy countenance. 
 
 Marie held out Montauran's glove for the inspection of the 
 warden of Fougeres. 
 
 " I must go to Saint James at once," she said. "The 
 Comte de Bauvan told me that I should find a guide and pro- 
 tector in you. So find two donkeys for us to ride, my worthy 
 Galope-Chopine, and prepare to come with us yourself. Time 
 is valuable ; for if we do not reach Saint James before to- 
 morrow evening we shall neither see the Gars nor the ball." 
 
 Galope-Chopine, utterly amazed, took the glove and turned 
 it over and over. Then he lighted a candle made of resin, 
 about the thickness of the little finger, and the color of ginger- 
 bread. This commodity had been imported from the north 
 of Europe, and, like everything else in this strange land of 
 Brittany, plainly showed the prevailing ignorance of the most 
 elementary principles of commerce. When Galope-Chopine 
 had seen the green ribbon, taken a look at Mile, de Verneuil, 
 scratched his ear, and emptied a pitcher of cider, after offering 
 a glass to the fair lady, he left her seated upon the bench of 
 polished chestnut-wood before the table, and went in search 
 of two donkeys. 
 
 The violet rays of the outlandish candle were hardly strong 
 enough to outshine the fitful moonlight, that gave vague out- 
 lines in dots of light to the dark hues of the furniture, and to 
 the floor of the smoke-begrimed hut. The little urchin had 
 raised his pretty, wondering face ; and up above his fair curls 
 appeared the heads of two cows, their pink noses and great 
 eyes shone through the holes in the wall of the byre. The 
 big dog, whose head was by no means the least intelligent 
 one in this family, seemed to contemplate the two strangers 
 with a curiosity quite as great as that displayed by the child. 
 A painter would have dwelt admiringly on the effect of this
 
 248 THE CHOUANS. 
 
 night-piece, but Marie was not very eager to enter into con- 
 versation with the spectre-like Barbette, who was now sitting 
 up in bed, and had begun to open her eyes very wide with 
 recognition. Marie went out to avoid the pestiferous atmo- 
 sphere of the hovel, and to escape the questions which the 
 " Becaniere " was about to ask. 
 
 She tripped lightly up the flight of stairs cut in the rock 
 which overhung Galope-Chopine's cottage, and thence ad- 
 mired the endless detail of the landscape before her, which 
 underwent a change at every step, whether backwards or for- 
 wards, towards the crests of the hills or down to the depths 
 of the valleys. Moonlight was spreading like a luminous mist 
 far and wide over the valley of the Couesnon. A woman who 
 carried a burden of slighted love in her heart could not but 
 experience the feeling of melancholy that this soft light pro- 
 duces in the soul a light that lent fantastic outlines to the 
 mountain forms, and traced out the lines of the streams in 
 strange pale tints. 
 
 The silence was broken just then by the bray of the asses. 
 Marie hurried down to the Chouan's cabin, and they set out 
 at once. Galope-Chopine, armed with a double-barreled 
 fowling-piece, wore a shaggy goatskin which gave him the 
 appearance of Robinson Crusoe. His wrinkled and blotched 
 countenace was barely visible beneath his huge hat, an article 
 of dress to which the peasants still cling, in pride at having 
 obtained, after all their long ages of serfdom, a decoration sacred 
 to the heads of their lords in times of yore. There was some- 
 thing patriarchal about the costume, attitude and form of 
 their guide and protector ; the whole nocturnal procession 
 resembled the picture of "The Flight into Egypt," which 
 we owe to the sombre brush of Rembrandt. Galope-Chopine 
 industriously avoided the highway, and led the two women 
 through the vast labyrinth made by cross-country roads in 
 Brittany. 
 
 By this time Mile, de Verneuil understood the tactics of the
 
 A DAY WITHOUT A MORROW. 249 
 
 Chouans in war. As she herself went over these tracks, she 
 could form a more accurate notion of the nature of the coun- 
 try which had appeared so enchanting to her when she viewed 
 it from the heights ; a country presenting dangers and well- 
 nigh hopeless difficulties, which must be experienced before 
 any idea can be formed concerning them. The peasants, 
 from time immemorial, have raised a bank of earth about each 
 field, forming a flat-topped ridge, six feet in height, with 
 beeches, oaks and chestnut trees growing upon the summit. 
 The ridge or mound, planted in this wise, is called a " hedge " 
 (the kind of hedge they have in Normandy) ; and as the long 
 branches of the trees which grow upon it almost always pro- 
 ject across the road, they make a great arbor overhead. The 
 roads themselves, shut in by clay banks in this melancholy 
 way, are not unlike the moats of fortresses ; and whenever 
 the granite, which is nearly always just beneath the surface 
 in these districts, does not form an uneven natural pavement, 
 the ways become so excessively heavy, that the lightest cart 
 can only travel over them with the help of two yoke of oxen 
 and a couple of horses ; they are small horses, it is true, but 
 generally strong. So chronic is the swampy state of the 
 roads that by dint of use and wont, a path called a rote has 
 been beaten out for foot passengers along the side of the 
 hedge in each field. The necessary transition from one field 
 to another is effected by climbing a few steps cut in the bank 
 sides, which are often slippery in wet weather. 
 
 The travelers found other obstacles in abundance to be sur- 
 mounted in these winding lanes. Each separate piece of 
 land, fortified in the way that has been described, possesses a 
 gateway some ten feet wide, which is barred across by a con- 
 trivance called an echalier in the west. The echalier is either 
 a trunk or a limb of a tree, with a hole drilled through one end of 
 it, so that it can be set on another shapeless log of wood which 
 serves, as it were, for a handle or pivot \ipon which the first 
 piece is turned. The thick end of the echalier is so arranged
 
 250 THE CHOUANS. 
 
 as to project some distance behind this pivot, so that it can 
 carry a heavy weight as a counterpoise, a device that enables 
 a child to open and close this curious rustic gate. The further 
 end of the tree trunk lies in a hollow fashioned on the inner side 
 of the bank itself. Sometimes the peasants thriftily dispense 
 with the stone counterpoise, and let the thick end of the trunk 
 or limb of the tree hang further over instead. This kind of 
 barrier varies with the taste of every farmer. Very often the 
 echalier consists of one single branch of a tree, with either 
 end ensconced in the earth of the bank. Often, again, it 
 looks like a square gate, built up of many branches, set at inter- 
 vals, as if the rungs of a ladder had been arranged crosswise. 
 This kind of a gate turns about like an echalier, and the other 
 end moves upon a little revolving disc. 
 
 These "hedges" and echaliers make the land look like a 
 vast chessboard. Every field is a separate and distinct en- 
 closure like a fortress, and each, like a fortress, is protected 
 by a rampart. The gateways are readily defended, and, 
 when stormed, afford a conquest fraught with many perils. 
 The Breton has a fancy that fallow land is made fertile by 
 growing huge bushes of b/room upon it ; so he encourages this 
 shrub, which thrives upon the treatment it re'ceives to such an 
 extent that it soon reaches the height of a man. This super- 
 stition is not unworthy of a population capable of depositing 
 their heaps of manure on the highest points of their fold- 
 yards ; and, in consequence, one-fourth of the whole area of 
 the land is covered with thickets of broom, affording hiding- 
 places without number for ambuscades. Scarcely a field is 
 without its one or two old cider-apple trees, whose low, over- 
 hanging branches are fatal to the vegetation beneath. Imagine, 
 therefore, how little of the field itself is left, when every 
 hedge is planted with huge trees, whose greedy roots spread 
 out over one-fourth of the space ; and you will have some 
 idea of the system of cultivation and general appearance of 
 the country through which Mile, de Verneuil was traveling.
 
 A DAY WITHOUT A MORROW. 251 
 
 It is not clear whether a desire to avoid disputes about 
 landmarks, or the convenient and easy custom of shutting up 
 cattle on the land with no one to look after them, brought 
 about the construction of these redoubtable barriers perma- 
 nent obstacles which make the country impenetrable, and 
 render a war with large bodies of troops quite impossible. 
 When the nature of the land has been reviewed, step by step, 
 the hopelessness of a struggle between regular and irregular 
 troops is abundantly evident ; for five hundred men can hold 
 the country in the teeth of the troops of a kingdom. This 
 was the whole secret of Chouan warfare. 
 
 Mile, de Verneuil now understood how pressing was the 
 necessity that the Republic should stamp out rebellion rather 
 by means of police and diplomacy than by futile efforts on the 
 part of the military. As a matter of fact, what was it possible 
 to effect against a people clever enough to despise the pos- 
 session of their towns, while they secured the length and 
 breadth of their land by such indestructible earthworks? 
 And how do otherwise than negotiate, when the whole blind 
 force of the peasants was concentrated in a wary and auda- 
 cious chief? She admired the genius of the minister who had 
 discovered the clue to a peace in the depths of his cabinet. 
 She thought she had gained an insight into the nature of 
 the considerations which sway men who have ability enough 
 to see the condition of an empire at a glance. Their 
 actions, which in the eyes of the crowd seem to be crim- 
 inal, are but the partial manifestations of a single vast con- 
 ception. There is about such awe-inspiring minds as these 
 an unknown power which seems to belong half to chance 
 and half to fate; a mysterious prophetic instinct within them 
 beckons them, and they rise up suddenly ; the common herd 
 misses them for a moment from among its members, raises its 
 eyes, and beholds them soaring on high. These thoughts 
 seemed to justify, nay, to exalt Mile, de Verneuil's longings 
 for revenge ; her hopes and the thoughts that wrought
 
 252 THE CHOUANS. 
 
 within her lent to her sufficient strength to endure the un- 
 wonted fatigues of her journey. At the boundary of every 
 freehold Galope-Chopine was compelled to assist the two 
 women to dismount, and to help them scramble over the 
 awkward interval, and when the rotes came to an end they 
 were obliged to mount again and venture into the miry 
 lanes which the approach of winter had already affected. 
 The huge trees, the hollow ways, and the barriers in these 
 low-lying meadows, all combined to shut in a damp atmos- 
 phere that surrounded the three travelers like an icy pall. 
 After much painful fatigue they reached the woods of Marig- 
 nay at sunrise. Their way became easier along a broad forest 
 ride. The thick vault of branches overhead protected them 
 from the weather, and they encountered no more of the diffi- 
 culties which had hitherto impeded them. 
 
 They had scarcely gone a league through the forest, when 
 they heard a confused far-off murmur of voices and the silvery 
 sounds of a bell, ringing less monotonously than those which 
 are shaken by the movements of cattle. Galope-Chopine 
 hearkened to the soft sounds with keen attention. Very soon 
 a gust of the breeze bore the words of a psalm to his ear. 
 This seemed to produce a great effect upon him ; he led the 
 weary donkeys aside into a track which took the travelers away 
 from the direct road to Saint James, turning a deaf ear to the 
 remonstrances of Mile, de Verneuil, whose uneasiness was in- 
 creased by the gloomy condition of the place. Enormous 
 blocks of granite, with the strangest outlines, lay to right and 
 left of them, piled one above another. Huge serpent-like 
 roots wandered over these rocks, seeking moisture and nour- 
 ishment afar for some few venerable beeches. Both sides of 
 the road looked like the huge caves which are famous for their 
 stalactites. Ravines and cavern-mouths were hidden by fes- 
 toons of ivy ; the sombre green of the holly thickets mingled 
 with the brackens and with green or grayish patches of moss. 
 The travelers had not taken many steps along this narrow
 
 A DAY WITHOUT A MORROW. 253 
 
 track when a most amazing scene suddenly spread itself before 
 Mile, de Verneuil's eyes, and explained Galope-Chopine's 
 pertinacity. 
 
 A kind of cove rose before them, built of huge masses of 
 granite, forming a semicircular amphitheatre. Tall dark firs 
 and golden-brown chestnut trees grew on its irregular tiers, 
 which rose one above another, as in a great circus. The 
 winter sun seemed not so much to throw its light as to pour a 
 flood of pale colors over everything, and autumn had spread 
 a warm brown carpet of dry leaves everywhere. In the very 
 centre of this hall, which seems to have had the deluge for its 
 architect, rose three giant Druidical stones, a great altar above 
 which the banner of the church was set. Some hundred men, 
 in fervent prayer, knelt, bareheaded, in this enclosure, where 
 a priest, assisted by two other ecclesiastics, was saying mass. 
 The poverty of the sacerdotal garb, the weak voice of the 
 priest, which echoed like a murmur in space, the crowd of 
 men filled with conviction, united by one common feeling, 
 bending before the undecorated altar and the bare crucifix, 
 the sylvan austerity of the temple, the hour and the place, 
 lent this scene an appearance of simplicity which must have 
 characterized early Christian gatherings. 
 
 Mile, de Verneuil stood still in admiring awe. She had 
 never before seen or imagined anything like this mass said in 
 the heart of the forest, this worship which persecution had 
 driven back to its primitive conditions, this poetry of the 
 days of yore brought into sharp contrast with the strange and 
 wild aspects of nature, these kneeling Chouans, armed or un- 
 armed, at once men and children at once cruel and devout. 
 She recollected how often she had marveled in her childhood 
 at the pomps which this very Church of Rome has made so 
 grateful to every sense ; but she had never been brought thus 
 face to face with the thought of God alone His cross above 
 the altar, His altar set on the bare earth ; among the autumn 
 woods that seemed to sustain the dome of the sky above, as
 
 254 THE CHOUANS. 
 
 the garlands of carved stone crown the archways of gothic ca- 
 thedrals ; while for the myriad colors of stained-glass windows, 
 a few faint red gleams of sunlight and its duller reflections 
 scarcely lighted up the altar, the priest, and his assistants. 
 
 The men before her were a fact, and not a system ; this was 
 a prayer, and not a theology. But the human passions which, 
 thus restrained for a moment, had left the harmony of this 
 picture undisturbed, soon reasserted themselves, and brought 
 a powerful animation into the mysterious scene. 
 
 The gospel came to an end as Mile, de Verneuil came up. 
 She recognized, not without alarm, the Abbe Gudin in the 
 officiating priest, and hastily screened herself from his obser- 
 vation behind a great fragment of granite, which made a 
 hiding-place for her. She also drew Francine quickly behind 
 it, but in vain did she endeavor to tear Galope-Chopine away 
 from the post which he had chosen with a view to sharing in 
 the benefits of the ceremony. She hoped to effect an escape 
 from the danger that threatened her when she saw that the 
 nature of the ground would permit her to withdraw before 
 all the rest of the congregation. 
 
 Through a large cleft in the rock she saw the Abbe Gudin 
 take his stand upon a block of granite which served him for 
 a pulpit, where he began his sermon with these words : " In 
 nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus sancti. ' ' 
 
 The whole congregation devoutly made the sign of the 
 cross as he spoke. 
 
 " My dear brethren," the Abb6 then began, in a loud 
 voice, " first of all let us pray for the dead : for Jean Coche- 
 grue, Nicolas Laferte, Joseph Brouet, Francois Parquoi, Sulpice 
 Coupiau, all of this parish, who died of the wounds which 
 they received in the fight at La Pelerine and in the siege of 
 Fougeres. De profundis" and the psalm was recited, as 
 their custom was, by the priests and congregation, who re- 
 peated alternate verses with an enthusiasm that augured well 
 for the success of the sermon. When the psalm for the dead
 
 A DAY WITHOUT A MORROW. 255 
 
 was over, the Abbe Gudin went on again in tones that grew 
 more and more vehement ; for the old Jesuit was well aware 
 that an emphatic style of address was the most convincing 
 form of argument by which to persuade his uncivilized 
 audience. 
 
 " These defenders of God, Christian brethren, have set 
 example of your duty before you," said he. " Are you not 
 ashamed of what they may be saying of you in Paradise? 
 Were it not for those blessed souls, who must have been wel- 
 comed there by the saints with open arms, our Lord might 
 well believe that your parish is the abode of heathen Ma- 
 hometans ! Do you know, my gars, what is said about you 
 in Brittany, and what the King is told of you ? You do not 
 know, is not that so ? I will tell you. They say, ' What is 
 this ? Altars have been overthrown by the Blues ; they have 
 slain the rectors, they have murdered the King and Queen, 
 they intend to take the men of every parish in Brittany, to 
 make them Blues like themselves, and to send them away 
 from their parishes to fight in far-off countries where they run 
 the risk of dying unshriven, and, therefore, of spending 
 eternity in hell. And are the gars of Marignay, whose church 
 has been burned down, waiting with their arms hanging by 
 their sides ? Oho ! This accursed Republic has sold the 
 goods of God and of the seigneurs by auction, and divided 
 the price among the Blues ; and in order to batten itself on 
 money as it has battened on blood, the Republic has issued a 
 decree which demands three livres out of every crown of six 
 francs, just as it demands three men out of every six ; and 
 the men of Marignay have not taken up their weapons to 
 drive the Blues out of Brittany ? Aha ! Paradise will be 
 shut against them, and they will never save their souls ! ' 
 This is what people are saying about you. It is your own 
 salvation, Christians, that is at stake 1 You will save your 
 souls in the struggle for your faith and your King. St. Anne 
 of Auray appeared to me herself yesterday at half-past two.
 
 256 THE CHOUANS. 
 
 
 
 She told me then just what I am telling you now. ' Thou art 
 a priest from Marignay? ' ' Yes, madame, at your service.' 
 ' Very good, I am St. Anne of Auray, aunt of God, as we 
 reckon in Brittany. I dwell at Auray, and I am come hither 
 also, to bid thee tell the gars of Marignay that there is no 
 hope of salvation for them if they do not take up arms. So 
 thou shalt refuse to absolve them from their sins unless they 
 serve God. Thou shalt bless their guns, and those gars who 
 shall be absolved from their sins shall never miss the Blues, 
 for their guns shall be holy ! ' She disappeared beneath the 
 goose-foot oak, leaving an odor of incense behind. I marked 
 the spot. There is a beautiful wooden Virgin there, set up by 
 the rector of Saint James. Moreover, the mother of Pierre 
 Leroi, who is called Marche-a-Terre, having repaired thither 
 in the evening to pray, has been healed of her sufferings 
 through the good works wrought by her son. There she is 
 in your midst ; you can see her with your own eyes walking 
 about without help from any one. It is a miracle, like the 
 resurrection of the blessed Marie Lambrequin, wrought to 
 prove to you that God will never forsake the cause of the 
 Bretons so long as they fight for His servants and for the 
 King. 
 
 "So, dear brethren, if you would save your souls and 
 show yourselves to be defenders of our lord the King, you 
 ought to obey him who has been sent to you by the King, 
 and whom we call the Gars, in everything that he may com- 
 mand. Then you will no longer be like heathen Mahome- 
 tans, and you will be found, with all the gars of all Brittany, 
 beneath the banner of God. You can take back again, out 
 of the Blues' pockets, all the money that they have stolen, for 
 since your fields lie unsown while you go out to war, our 
 Lord and the King make over to you all the spoils of your 
 enemies. Christians, shall it be said of you that the gars of 
 Marignay lag behind the gars of Morbihan, the gars of Saint- 
 Georges, of Vitr6 or of Antrain, who are all in the service of
 
 A DAY WITHOUT A MORROW. 257 
 
 God and the King? Will you allow them to take everything? 
 Will you look on, like heretics, with folded arms, while so 
 many Bretons are saving their own souls while they save their 
 King? ' For Me, ye shall give up all things,' says the gospel. 
 Have not we ourselves given up our tithes already ? Give up 
 everything to wage this sacred war ! You shall be as the 
 Maccabees, you will be pardoned at the last. You will find, 
 in your midst, your rectors and your cures, and the victory 
 will be yours ! Christians, give heed to this ! " said he, as he 
 drew to an end. " To-day is the only day on which we have 
 the power of blessing your guns. Those who do not take 
 advantage of this favor will never find the Blessed One of 
 Auray so merciful at another time, and she will not hear them 
 again, as she did in the last war." 
 
 This sermon, supported by the thunders of a powerful voice 
 and by manifold gesticulations, which bathed the orator in 
 perspiration, produced but little apparent effect. The 
 peasants stood motionless as statues, with their eyes fixed on 
 the speaker ; but Mile, de Verneuil soon saw clearly that this 
 universal attitude was the result of a spell which the Abbe 
 exerted over the crowd. Like all great actors, he had 
 swayed his audience as one man, by appealing to their pas- 
 sions and to their interests. Was he not absolving them 
 beforehand for any excesses that they might commit ? Had 
 he not severed the few bonds that restrained these rough 
 natures, and that kept them obedient to the precepts of 
 religion and of social order ? He had prostituted the priestly 
 office to the uses of political intrigue ; but in those revolu- 
 tionary times, every one used such weapons as he possessed in 
 the interests of his party, and the peace-bringing cross of 
 Christ became an instrument of war, as did the ploughshare 
 that produces man's daily bread. 
 
 .Mile, de Verneuil saw no one who could understand her 
 thoughts, so she turned to look at Francine, and was not a 
 little amazed to find that her maid was sharing in the general 
 17
 
 258 THE CHOUANS. 
 
 enthusiasm. She was devoutly telling her beads on Galope- 
 Chopine's rosary; he no doubt, had made it over to her dur- 
 ing the course of the sermon. 
 
 " Francine," she murmured, " are you also afraid of being 
 a ' heathen Mahometan ? ' 
 
 "Oh! mademoiselle," answered the Breton girl, "only 
 look at Pierre's mother over yonder, she is walking 
 
 There was such deep conviction in Francine's attitude, that 
 Marie understood the secret spell of the sermon, the influence 
 exercised by the clergy in the country, and the tremendous 
 power of the scene which was just about to begin. Those 
 peasants who stood nearest went up, one by one, kneeling as 
 they offered their guns to the preacher, who laid them down 
 upon the altar. Galope-Chopine lost no time in presenting 
 himself with his old duck gun. 
 
 The three priests chanted the hymn Veni Creator, while the 
 officiating priests enveloped the instruments of death in a 
 thick cloud of bluish smoke, describing a pattern of inter- 
 twining lines. When the light wind had borne away the 
 fumes of incense, the guns were given out again in order. Each 
 man knelt to receive his weapon from the hands of the priests, 
 who recited a prayer in Latin as they returned it to him. 
 When every armed man had returned to his place, the intense 
 enthusiasm (hitherto mute) which possessed the congregation 
 broke out in a tremendous yet touching manner 
 
 ' Domine salvum fac regem ! ' ' 
 
 This was the prayer that the preacher thundered forth in an 
 echoing voice, and which was sung twice through with vehe- 
 ment excitement. There was something wild and warlike 
 about the sounds of their voices. The two notes of the word 
 regem, which the peasants readily comprehended, were taken 
 with such passionate force that Mile, de Verneuil could not 
 prevent her thoughts from straying with emotion to the exiled 
 family of Bourbons. These recollections awoke others of her 
 own past life. Her memory brought back festive scenes at the
 
 A DAY WITHOUT A MORROW. 259 
 
 court where she herself had shone conspicuous, a court now 
 scattered abroad. The form of the Marquis glided into her 
 musings. She forgot the picture before her eyes ; and with 
 the sudden transition of thought natural to women's minds, 
 her scheme of vengeance recurred to her, a scheme for which 
 she was about to risk her life, and yet a single glance might 
 bring it to naught. She meditated how to appear at her best, 
 at this supreme moment of her career, and remembered that 
 she had no ornaments with which to deck her hair for this 
 ball. A spray of holly at once attracted her attention, and 
 the thought of a wreath of its curling leaves and scarlet berries 
 carried her away. 
 
 " Aha ! " said Galope-Chopine, wagging his head to show 
 his satisfaction. "My gun may hang fire when I am after 
 birds, but when I am after the Blues never ! " 
 
 Marie looked more closely at her guide's countenance, and 
 saw that it was on the same pattern as all the others which she 
 had just seen. There seemed to be fewer ideas expressed in 
 the old Chouan's face than in that of a child. His cheeks 
 and forehead were puckered with unconcealed joy as he looked 
 at his gun ; religious conviction had infused an element of 
 fanaticism into his elation, so that, for a moment, the worst 
 propensities of civilization seemed to be manifested in his 
 barbarous features. 
 
 They very soon reached a village, that is to say, a collection 
 of four or five dwellings, like Galope-Chopine' s own. Mile. 
 de Verneuil was finishing a breakfast, composed solely of 
 bread and butter and dairy produce, when the newly-recruited 
 Chouans arrived. The rector headed these irregular troops, 
 bearing in his hands a rough crucifix transformed into a 
 banner, and followed by a gars, who was full of pride at assist- 
 ing to carry the parish standard. Mile, de Verneuil perforce 
 found herself included in this detachment, which was on its 
 way to St. James, and consequently protected from dangers 
 of all kinds ; for Galope-Chopine had been happily inspired
 
 260 THE CHOUANS. 
 
 to make an indiscreet avowal to the leader of the troop how 
 that the pretty garce whom he was escorting was a good friend 
 to the Gars. 
 
 It was growing towards sunset when the three travelers 
 reached Saint James, a little town which owes its name to the 
 English, by whom it was built in the fourteenth century, dur- 
 ing the time of their rule in Brittany. Before they entered 
 it, Mile, de Verneuil beheld a curious scene of warfare, to 
 which she gave but little heed, for she was afraid that some of her 
 enemies might recognize her, and the fear quickened her pace. 
 Five or six thousand peasants were bivouacking in a field. 
 There was no suggestion of war about their costumes, which 
 were not unlike those of the requisitionaires on La Pelerine ; 
 on the contrary, the disorderly assemblage of men resembled 
 a huge hiring-fair. A careful scrutiny was required to ascer- 
 tain whether or not the Bretons carried arms at all ; for 
 their guns were almost hidden by the goatskins of various 
 patterns that they wore, and in many cases the most con- 
 spicuous weapons were the scythes with which they had re- 
 placed the muskets that had been distributed among them. 
 Some were eating and drinking, some were brawling and 
 fighting, but the greater number were lying asleep upon the 
 ground. There was no sign or trace of order or of disci- 
 pline. An officer in a red uniform attracted Mile, de Ver- 
 neuil's attention ; she thought that he must belong to the 
 English army. Further on, two other officers appeared to be 
 bent on teaching a few of the Chouans, who seemed to be 
 quicker-wit ted than their fellows, how to handle a couple 
 of cannon, of which the whole artillery of the future Royalist 
 army appeared to consist. 
 
 The gars from Marignay were recognized by their standard, 
 and welcomed with uproarious yells. Under cover of the 
 bustle made in the camp by the arrival of the troop and its 
 rectors, Mile, de Verneuil was able to make her way across it, 
 and into the town in safety. She reached an unpretentious
 
 A DAY WITHOUT A MORROW. 261 
 
 inn, at no great distance from the house where the ball was 
 to be given. The town was so crowded with people that, 
 after the greatest imaginable difficulty, she could only succeed 
 in obtaining a wretched little room. When she had taken 
 possession of it, and Galope-Chopine had given over the box 
 that carried her mistress' costume into Francine's keeping, he 
 stood waiting and hesitating in a manner that cannot be 
 described. At any other time Mile, de Verneuil would have 
 been diverted by the spectacle of the Breton peasant out of 
 his own parish ; but now she broke the charm by drawing 
 from her purse four crowns of six francs each which she 
 handed over to him. 
 
 "Take them !" said she to Galope-Chopine; "and if you 
 wish to oblige me, you will return at once to Fougeres with- 
 out tasting cider, or passing through the camp." 
 
 The Chouan, in amazement at such open-handedness, was 
 looking alternately at Mile, de Verneuil and at the four crowns 
 which he had received, but she dismissed him with a wave 
 of the hand, and he vanished. 
 
 "How can you send him away, mademoiselle ?" asked 
 Francine. "Did you not see how the town is surrounded? 
 How are we to leave it, and who will protect us while here 
 and guide us back ? " 
 
 " Have you not a protector of your own?" said Mile, de 
 Verneuil, with a low mocking whistle, after the manner of 
 Marche-a-Terre, whose ways she tried to mimic. 
 
 Francine blushed and smiled sadly at her mistress* high 
 spirits. 
 
 " But where is your protector? " she said. 
 
 Mile, de Verneuil rapidly drew out her dagger and showed 
 it to the frightened Breton maid, who sank down in a chair 
 and clasped her hands. 
 
 " What have you come to look for here, Marie?" she ex- 
 claimed ; there was a note of entreaty in her voice which 
 called for no response. Mile, de Verneuil was absorbed in
 
 262 THE CHOUANS. 
 
 bending and twisting the sprays of holly which she had gath- 
 ered ; she said 
 
 " I am not sure that the holly will look very pretty in my 
 hair. Only a face as radiant as mine could bear such a sombre 
 adornment. What do you think, Francine ? " 
 
 Such remarks as this, made many times in the course of her 
 toilet, showed that her mind was absolutely free from pre- 
 occupation. Any one who had overheard this strange girl 
 would hardly have believed in the gravity of the crisis in 
 which she was risking her life. 
 
 A somewhat short gown of Indian muslin revealed the del- 
 icate outlines of her figure, to which it clung like damp linen. 
 Over this she wore a red overskirt, with innumerable drooping 
 folds, that fell gradually lower and lower towards one side, 
 thus preserving the graceful outlines of the Greek chiton. 
 The sensuous beauty of this garb of a pagan priestess made 
 the costume, a costume which the fashion of those days per- 
 mitted women to wear, less indelicate ; and, as a further 
 palliation, Marie wound gauze about her white shoulders 
 which the low lines of the tunic had left too bare. She 
 knotted up the long locks of her hair at the back of her head 
 in the irregular flattened cone that, by apparently adding 
 length to the head, lends such charm to the faces of classical 
 statues ; reserving for her forehead a few long curls that fell 
 on either side of her face in shining coils. Thus robed, and 
 with her hair arranged thus, her resemblance to the greatest 
 masterpieces of the Greek chisel was complete. She saw how 
 every detail in the disposition of her hair set off the love- 
 liness of her face, with a smile that denoted her approval ; 
 then she crowned herself with the wreath of holly which she 
 had twisted. 
 
 The red color of her tunic was repeated in her hair 
 with the happiest effect by the thick clusters of scarlet 
 berries. As she twisted back a few of the leaves so as to 
 secure a fanciful contrast between their upper and under
 
 A DAY WITHOUT A MOKKOW. 263 
 
 sides, Mile, de Verneuil flung a glance over herself in the 
 mirror, criticising the general effect of her toilet. 
 
 " I am hideous to-night," she exclaimed, as though she had 
 been surrounded by flatterers. "I look like a statue of 
 Liberty." 
 
 She was careful to set her dagger in her corset, leaving the 
 ruby-ornamented hilt protruding, so that the crimson gleams 
 might draw the eye to the beauties which her rival had so 
 unworthily profaned. Francine could not reconcile herself 
 to parting from her mistress. When she was quite ready to 
 start, the maid was ready to accompany her, finding an 
 excuse in the difficulties that women necessarily encounter in 
 going to a dance in a little town in Lower Brittany. Would 
 she not be required to uncloak Mile, de Verneuil, to take off 
 the overshoes which the filthy condition of the streets had 
 rendered imperative (albeit sand had been laid down), and to 
 remove the gauze veil that her mistress had wound about her 
 head, so as to screen herself from the curious eyes of the 
 Chouans, who had been drawn by curiosity to surround the 
 house where the dance was taking place ? The crowd was so 
 dense that they went between two hedges of Chouans. 
 Francine no longer tried to keep her mistress back. After 
 rendering the final necessary assistance demanded by a 
 toilet in which unruffled freshness was a first requirement, 
 she stayed on in the courtyard. She could not leave her mis- 
 tress to the chances of fate without being at hand to fly to 
 her assistance, for the poor Breton maid foresaw nothing but 
 calamities. 
 
 A strange scene was taking place in Montauran's room at 
 the time of Marie's arrival at the festival. The young 
 Marquis was almost dressed, and was donning the broad red 
 ribbon that was to mark him out as the most important per- 
 sonage among those assembled, when the Abbe Gudin came 
 in with an anxious face. 
 
 " Come quickly, my Lord Marquis," said he. " You alone
 
 264 THE CHOUANS. 
 
 can calm the storm that has arisen among the chiefs.. I do 
 not know what it is all about. They are talking of withdraw- 
 ing from the King's service. It is that devil of a Rifoel who 
 is the cause of the trouble, I think. There is always some 
 piece of foolery at the bottom of these disputes. They say 
 that Mme. du Gua upbraided him for coming to the ball in an 
 unsuitable dress." 
 
 " The woman must be crazy," exclaimed the Marquis, " to 
 expect " 
 
 "The Chevalier du Vissard," the Abbe went on, interrupt- 
 ing him, " retorted that if you had given him the money, 
 promised to him in the King's name " 
 
 " Enough, enough, Abbe ! Now I understand everything. 
 The scene had been got up beforehand, had it not ! And you 
 are their spokesman " 
 
 " /, my Lord Marquis? " the Abbe broke in with yet an- 
 other interruption, "I will support you vigorously. I hope 
 that you will believe, in fairness to me, that the prospect of the 
 re-establishment of the altar throughout France, and of the 
 restoration of the King to the throne of his forefathers, holds 
 out far greater inducements to my humble efforts than that 
 Archbishopric of Rennes which you " 
 
 The Abbe dared not to go any further, for at these words 
 a bitter smile stole over the lips of the Marquis. But the 
 young chief at once suppressed the gloomy reflections that 
 occurred to him. With austere brows he followed the Abbe 
 Gudin into a large room that echoed with vehement 
 clamor. 
 
 " I own the authority of no one present," Rifoel was crying 
 out. He flung fiery glances on those about him, and his hand 
 was finding the way to the hilt of his sabre. 
 
 "Do. you own the authority of common sense?" asked 
 the Marquis, coolly, The young Chevalier du Vissard, better 
 known by his patronymic of Rifoel, kept silence in the pres- 
 ence of the general of the Catholic armies.
 
 A DAY WITHOUT A MORROW. 265 
 
 " What is the matter now, gentlemen ? " the young chief 
 demanded, as he scanned the faces about him. 
 
 "The matter, my Lord Marquis," replied a notorious 
 smuggler embarrassed at first like a man of the people who 
 has long been overawed by the prestige of a great lord, but who 
 loses all sense of restraint the moment that the boundary line 
 that separates the pair has been overstepped, because thence- 
 forth he regards him as their equal " the matter is that you 
 have come in the nick of time. I cannot talk in fine golden 
 words, so I will put it roundly. I had five hundred men 
 under me all through the last war, and since we have taken up 
 arms again I have managed to find, for the King's service, 
 a thousand heads quite as hard as my own. All along, for 
 seven years past, I have been risking my life in the good 
 cause ; I do not blame you at all, but all work ought to be 
 paid for. Therefore, to begin with, I wish to be called M. de 
 Cottereau ; and I wish to be requited by the rank of colonel, 
 otherwise I shall offer my submission to the First Consul. My 
 men and I, you see, my Lord Marquis, are always dunned by 
 a cursedly pressing creditor who must be satisfied. Here he 
 is ! " he added, striking his stomach. 
 
 " Have the fiddles arrived ? " Montauran inquired of Mme. 
 du Gua in caustic tones. 
 
 But the smuggler, in his brutal way, had opened up too all- 
 important a question ; and these natures, as calculating as 
 ambitious, had been too long in suspense as to their prospects 
 in the King's service for the scene to be cut short by the 
 young leader's scorn. The young Chevalier du Vissard, in 
 his heat and excitement, sprang to confront Montauran, and 
 seized his hand to prevent him from turning away. 
 
 " Take care, my Lord Marquis," he said. " You are treat- 
 ing too lightly men who have some claim to the gratitude of 
 him whom you represent here. We are aware that his majesty 
 has given you full power to recognize the services we have 
 rendered, which ought to be rewarded either in this world or
 
 266 THE CHOUANS. 
 
 in the next for the scaffold is prepared for us daily. As for 
 me, I am sure that the rank of marechal de camp " 
 
 " Of colonel, you mean ? " 
 
 " No, my Lord Marquis, Charette made me a colonel. 
 My claim to the rank I have spoken of cannot be disputed. 
 Still I am not urging my own claims just now in any way, 
 but those of my dauntless brothers in arms, whose services 
 stand in need of acknowledgment. Hitherto your promises 
 and your personal guarantees have satisfied them ; " he low- 
 ered his voice as he added, "and I must say that they are 
 easily contented. But," and he raised his voice again, 
 "when the sun shall rise at last in the Chateau of Versailles 
 to shine upon the happy days of the monarchy to come, will 
 all the King's faithful servants in France, who have aided the 
 King to recover France, readily obtain his favor for their 
 families? Will their widows receive pensions? Will their 
 unfortunate losses of property through confiscation be made 
 good to them ? I doubt it. Therefore, my Lord Marquis, 
 will not indisputable proofs of past services be useful then ! 
 It is not that I ever shall mistrust the King himself, but I 
 heartily mistrust those cormorants of ministers and courtiers 
 about him, who will din a lot of trash into his ears about the 
 public good, the honor of France, the interests of the crown, 
 and a hundred more such things. They will mock then a 
 loyal Vendean or a brave Chouan because he is aged, and 
 because the old sword that once he drew for the good cause 
 dangles against his legs, which are shrunken with sufferings. 
 Can you blame us, Marquis ? " 
 
 " You put it admirably, M. de Vissard ; but you have spoken 
 a little too soon," replied Montauran. 
 
 "Listen, Marquis," said the Comte de Bauvan in a low 
 voice, "upon my word, Rifoel has told us some very true 
 things. You yourself are always sure of access to the King's 
 ear ; but the rest of us can seldom go to see our master. So 
 I tell you frankly that if you do not pledge your word as a
 
 A DAY WITHOUT A MORROW. 267 
 
 gentleman to obtain the post of Grand Master of the Rivers 
 and Forests of France for me, when opportunity offers, the 
 devil take me if I will risk my neck. It is no small task that 
 I am set to conquer Normandy for the King so I hope to 
 have the order for it. But there is time yet to think about 
 that," he added, blushing. "God forbid that I should 
 follow the example of these wretches, and worry you. You 
 will speak to the King for me, and there is an end of it." 
 
 Each of the chiefs by some more or less ingenious device 
 found means to inform the Marquis of the extravagant 
 reward which he expected for his services. One modestly 
 asked for the governorship of Brittany, another for a bar- 
 onetcy, one demanded promotion, and another a command ; 
 while one and all of them desired pensions. 
 
 " Well, Baron," the Marquis said, addressing M. du Guenic, 
 " do you really wish for nothing ? " 
 
 " Faith, Marquis, these gentlemen have left nothing for me 
 but the crown of France ; but I could readily manage to put 
 up with that " 
 
 "Gentlemen!" thundered the Abbe Gudin. "Consider 
 this, that if you are so eager in the day of victory, you will 
 spoil everything. Will not the King be compelled to make 
 concessions to the Revolutionaires? " 
 
 " What ! to the Jacobins? " exclaimed the smuggler, " Let 
 the King leave that to me ! I will undertake to set my thou- 
 sand men to hang them, and we shall very soon be rid of 
 them " 
 
 " M. de Cottereau," said the Marquis, "I see that several 
 invited guests are arriving. We must vie with each other in 
 assiduity and zeal, so as to determine them to take part in our 
 sacred enterprise. You understand that the present moment 
 is not a time to consider your demands, even if they were 
 just." 
 
 The Marquis went towards the door as he spoke, as if to 
 welcome some nobles from the neighboring districts, of whom
 
 268 THE CI JO VANS. 
 
 he had caught sight, but the bold smuggler intercepted him 
 deferentially and respectfully. 
 
 "No! no! my Lord Marquis, excuse me, but in 1793 the 
 Jacobins taught us too thoroughly that it is not the reaper 
 who gets the bannock. If you put your name to this scrap 
 of paper, I will bring you fifteen "hundred gars to-morrow ; 
 otherwise, I shall treat with the First Consul." 
 
 The Marquis looked haughtily around, and saw that the 
 onlookers at the debate regarded the audacity and resolution 
 of the old free-lance with no unfavorable eyes. One man 
 only, seated in a corner, appeared to take no part whatever 
 in what was going on, but was employed in filling awhile clay 
 pipe with tobacco. The contempt that he visibly showed for 
 the orators, his unassuming manner, and the commisseration 
 for himself which the Marquis read in the man's eyes, made 
 him look closely at this magnanimous adherent, in whom he 
 recognized Major Brigaut. The chief went quickly up to 
 him, and said 
 
 " How about you ? What do you ask for ? " 
 
 " Oh ! my Lord Marquis, if the King comes back again, I 
 shall be quite satisfied." 
 
 " But for you yourself? " 
 
 " For me ? Oh ! You are joking, my lord." 
 
 The Marquis pressed the Breton's hard hand, and spoke to 
 Mme. du Gua, by whom he was standing. " Madame, I may 
 lose my life in this undertaking of mine before I have had 
 time to send the King a faithful report of the Catholic armies 
 in Brittany. If you should see the days of the Restoration, 
 do not forget either this brave fellow nor the Baron du Guenic, 
 There is more devotion in these two than in all the other 
 people here." 
 
 He indicated the chiefs who were waiting, not without im- 
 patience, till the youthful Marquis should comply with their 
 demands. Papers were displayed in every hand, in which, 
 doubtless their services in previous wars had been recorded by
 
 A DAY WITHOUT A MORROW. 269 
 
 Royalist generals; and one and all began to murmur. The 
 Abbe Gudin, the Comte de Bauvan, and the Baron du Guenic 
 were taking counsel in their midst, as to the best means of 
 assisting the Marquis to reject such extravagant claims, for in 
 their opinion the young leader's position was a very difficult 
 one. 
 
 There was a sarcastic light in the blue eyes of the Marquis 
 as he suddenly gazed about him on those assembled, and 
 spoke in clear tones 
 
 " Gentlemen, I do not know whether the powers which the 
 King has vouchsafed to me are comprehensible enough to 
 permit of my fulfilling your demands. He possibly did not 
 foresee such zeal and such devotion as yours. You yourselves 
 shall decide as to my duties, and perhaps I may be able to 
 perform them." 
 
 He went and returned promptly with a letter lying open in 
 his hand, ratified by the royal signature and seal. 
 
 " These are the letters patent by virtue of which you owe 
 me obedience," said he. " They empower me to govern in 
 the King's name the province of Brittany, Normandy, Maine, 
 and Anjou ; and to acknowledge the services of the officers 
 that shall distinguish themselves in his majesty's armies. 
 
 An evident thrill of satisfaction went through those assem- 
 bled. The Chouans came up and respectfully formed a circle 
 about the Marquis. All eyes were fixed on the King's signa- 
 ture, when the young chi'ef, who was standing by the hearth, 
 flung the letter into the fire, where it was burned to ashes in a 
 moment. 
 
 " I will no longer command any but those who see in the 
 King, a King ; and not a prey for them to devour. Gentle- 
 men, you are at liberty to leave me " 
 
 A cry of "Long live the King ! " went up from Mme. du 
 Gua, the Abbe Gudin, Major Brigaut, the Chevalier du Vis- 
 sard, the Baron du Guenic, and the Comte de Bauvan. If, in 
 the first instance, the other chiefs wavered a moment before
 
 270 THE CHOUANS. 
 
 echoing the cry of these enthusiasts ; the Marquis* noble ac- 
 tion soon produced an effect upon them ; they besought him 
 to forget what had happened, and protested that, no matter 
 for letters patent, he should always be their leader. 
 
 " Come, let us dance ! " cried the Comtede Bauvan, "and 
 happen what may ! After all," he added, merrily, "it is bet- 
 ter praying to God than to the saints. Let us fight first, and 
 by-and-by we shall see." 
 
 "Ah! that is quite true. Begging your pardon, Baron," 
 said Brigaut, speaking in a low voice to the staunch du Guenic, 
 " I have never seen a day's wage asked for in the morning." 
 
 The company distributed themselves through the rooms, 
 where several people had already come together. In vain the 
 Marquis tried to dismiss the sombre expression which had 
 wrought a change in his face ; the chiefs could easily dis- 
 cern that the foregoing scene had left an unfortunate impression 
 on the mind of the man who still united some of the fair 
 illusions of youth with his devotion to the cause ; and this 
 shamed them. 
 
 The assemblage, composed of the most enthusiastic partisans 
 of royalty, was radiant with intoxicating joy. In the remote parts 
 of a rebellious province they had never had an opportunity of 
 forming just opinions as to the events of the Revolution, and 
 had to take the most visionary assumptions for solid realities. 
 Their courage had been stimulated by Montauran's bold initial 
 measures, by his fortune and ability, and by the name he bore, 
 all of which had combined to cause that most perilous form of 
 intoxication the intoxication of politics which is only 
 abated after torrents of blood have been shed, and for the 
 most part, shed in vain. The Revolution was only a passing 
 disturbance in France for all those who were present ; and for 
 them nothing appeared to be changed. The districts about 
 them held to the house of Bourbon. So complete was the 
 domination of the Royalists, that four years previously Hoche 
 had brought about an armistice rather than a peace.
 
 A DAY WITHOUT A MORROW. 271 
 
 The nobles, therefore, held the Revolutionaires very cheap ; 
 they took Bonaparte for a Marceau, who had had better luck 
 than his predecessor. And the ladies prepared to dance, in 
 high spirits. Only a few of the chiefs who had met the Blues 
 in the field were aware of the real gravity of the crisis, and 
 they knew that they should be misunderstood if they spoke of 
 the First Consul and his power to their countrymen who were 
 behind the times. So they talked among themselves, turning 
 indifferent eyes upon the ladies, who avenged themselves by 
 criticising them to each other. Mine, du Gua, who appeared 
 to be doing the honors of the ball, tried to distract the atten- 
 tion of the ladies from their impatience by retailing conven- 
 tional flatteries to each in turn. The harsh sounds of the 
 tuning of the instruments were already audible, when Mme. 
 du Gua saw the Marquis, with a trace of melancholy still 
 about his face. She hurried to him, and said 
 
 " I hope you are not depressed by the scene you have had 
 with those boors? 'It is a very commonplace occurrence." 
 
 She received no reply. The Marquis was absorbed in his 
 musings. He thought that he heard some of the arguments 
 that Marie had urged upon him in her prophetic tones among 
 these very chiefs at the Vivetiere when she had tried to in- 
 duce him to abandon the struggle of kings against peoples. 
 But he had too much loftiness of soul, too much pride, and 
 possibly too strong a belief in the work that he had begun, to 
 forsake it now ; and he resolved at that moment to carry it on 
 with a stout heart, in spite of obstacles. He raised his head 
 again proudly, and the meaning of Mme. du Gua's words only 
 then reached him. 
 
 " You are at Fougeres, of course ! " she was saying with a 
 bitterness that betrayed the futility of the attempts she had 
 made to divert his mind. "Ah ! my lord, I would give all 
 the life in me to put her into your hands, and to see you 
 happy with her." 
 
 " Then why did you fire at her so dexterously?"
 
 272 THE CHOUANS. 
 
 " Because I wished her either dead or in your arms. Yes ! 
 I could have given my love to the Marquis of Montauran on 
 the day when I thought that I discerned a hero in him. To- 
 day I have for him only a compassionate friendship ; he is held 
 aloof from glory by the roving heart of an opera girl." 
 
 "As to love," the Marquis answered with irony in his tones, 
 " you are quite wrong about me ! If I loved that girl, 
 madame, I should feel less desire for her and, but for you, I 
 should even now possibly think no more of her." 
 
 " Here she is ! " said Mme. du Gua suddenly. 
 
 The haste with which the Marquis turned his head gave a 
 horrible pang to the poor lady ; but by the brilliant light of 
 the candles the slightest changes that took place in the features 
 of the man whom she so ardently loved were easily discerned, so 
 that she fancied she saw some hopes of a return, when he 
 turned his face back to hers, with a smile at this feminine 
 stratagem. 
 
 " At what are you laughing?" asked the Comte de Bauvan. 
 
 "At a soap-bubble that has burst ! " Mme. du Gua replied 
 gaily. " If we are to believe the Marquis, he wonders to-day 
 that his heart ever beat for a moment for the creature who 
 calls herself Mile, de Verneuil. You know whom I mean?" 
 
 "The creature?" queried the Count, with reproach in his 
 voice. It is only right, madame, that the author of the mis- 
 chief should make reparation for it, and I give you my word 
 of honor that she really is the daughter of the Due de Ver- 
 neuil." 
 
 " Which word of honor, Count?" asked the Marquis in an 
 entirely different tone. "Are we to believe you at the Vive- 
 tiere or here at Saint James?" 
 
 Mile, de Verneuil was announced in a loud voice. The 
 Count hurried towards the door, offered his hand with every 
 sign of the deepest respect to the fair newcomer, and led her 
 through the curious throng of gazers to the Marquis and 
 Mme. du Gua.
 
 A DAY WITHOUT A MORROW. 273 
 
 "Believe nothing but the word I have given you to-day," 
 he said to the astonished chief. 
 
 Mme. du Gua turned pale at the untoward reappearance of 
 the girl who was standing looking proudly about her, to dis- 
 cover, among those assembled, the former guests at the Vive- 
 tiere. She waited to receive her rival's constrained greeting; 
 and, without a glance at the Marquis, she allowed the Count 
 to lead her to a place of honor by the side of Mme. du Gua, 
 to whom she bowed slightly in a patronizing way. The latter 
 would not be vexed at this, and her woman's instinct led her 
 at once to assume a friendly and smiling expression. For a 
 moment Mile, de Verneuil's beauty and singular costume 
 drew a murmur from the company. When the Marquis and 
 Mme. du Gua looked at those who had been at the Vivetiere, 
 they saw that the respectful attitude of each one seemed to be 
 sincere, and that every one appeared to be considering how 
 to reinstate himself in the good graces of the Parisian lady, 
 concerning whom they had been in error. The two antag- 
 onists were now face to face. 
 
 " But this is witchcraft, mademoiselle ! Who but you in 
 all the world could take us by surprise like this ? Did you 
 really come hither quite alone? " asked Mme. du Gua. 
 
 " Quite alone," Mile, de Verneuil repeated, "so this even- 
 ing, madame, you will have only me to kill." 
 
 "Make allowances for me," answered Mme. du Gua. "I 
 cannot tell you how much pleasure I feel at meeting you again. 
 I have been really overwhelmed by the recollection of the 
 wrong I did you, and I was seeking for an opportunity which 
 should permit me to atone for it." 
 
 " The wrong you did me, madame, I can readily pardon ; 
 but the death of the Blues whom you murdered lies heavily 
 on my heart. I might, moreover, make some further com- 
 plaint of the brusque style of your correspondence. But, 
 after all, I forgive everything, on account of the service that 
 you have done me." 
 18
 
 274 THE CHOUANS. 
 
 Mme. du Gua lost countenance as she felt her hand clasped 
 in that of her lovely rival, who was smiling upon her in an 
 offensively gracious manner. The Marquis had not stirred so 
 far, but now he seized the Count's arm in a close grip. 
 
 "You have shamefully deceived me," he said. "You 
 have even involved my honor ; I am no comedy dupe ; I 
 will have your life for this, or you shall have mine." 
 
 " I am ready to afford you every explanation that you may 
 desire, Marquis," said the Count stiffly, and they went into 
 an adjoining room. Even those who were least acquainted 
 with the mystery underlying this scene began to understand 
 the interest that it possessed ; so that no one stirred when the 
 violins gave the signal for the dancing to begin. 
 
 Mme. du Gua spoke, compressing her lips in a kind of 
 fury 
 
 "Mademoiselle, what service can I have had the honor of 
 rendering, of importance sufficient to deserve ?" 
 
 " Did you not enlighten me, madame, as to the Marquis de 
 Montauran's real nature? With what calm indifference the 
 execrable man allowed me to go to my death ! I give him up 
 to you very willingly." 
 
 " Then what have you come here to seek? " Mme. du Gua 
 asked quickly. 
 
 " The esteem and the reputation of which you robbed me 
 at the Vivetiere, madame. Do not give yourself any uneasi- 
 ness about anything else. Even if the Marquis were to come 
 back to me, a lost love regained is no love at all, as you must 
 be aware." 
 
 Mme. du Gua took Mile, de Verneuil's hand in hers with 
 a charming caressing gesture, such as women like to use 
 among themselves, especially when men are also present. 
 
 "Well, dear child, I am delighted that you are so sensible 
 about it. If the service which I have rendered you has been 
 a somewhat painful one at the outset " (and here she pressed 
 the hand which she held, though she felt within her a wild
 
 A DAY WITHOUT A MORROW. 275 
 
 longing to tear it in pieces, when she found how delicately 
 soft the fingers were), "at any rate it shall be thorough. 
 Just listen to me. I know the Gars' nature well," she went 
 on, with a treacherous smile ; "he would have deceived you, 
 he will not marry any woman, nor can he do so. 
 
 "Ah!" 
 
 " Yes. mademoiselle. He only accepted his perilous mis- 
 sion in order to win the hand of Mile. d'Uxelles; his 
 majesty has promised to use all his influence to bring the 
 marriage about." 
 
 "Indeed!" 
 
 Mile, de Verneuil added not a word more to this satirical 
 exclamation. The young and handsome Chevalier du Vis- 
 sard, eager to earn her forgiveness for the witticism which had 
 been a signal for the insults that had followed upon it at the 
 Vivetiere, came up to her and respectfully asked for a dance ; 
 she gave him her hand, and they hastened to take their places 
 in the same quadrille with Mme. du Gua. The powdered or 
 frizzled hair of the other ladies, and their toilets, which 
 recalled the bygone days of the exiled court, looked ridiculous 
 when confronted with the magnificent simplicity of the 
 elegant costume which the prevailing fashion of the day per- 
 mitted Mile, du Verneuil to wear. The ladies condemned it 
 aloud, and inwardly envied her. The men were never weary 
 of admiring the effect of so simple a way of dressing the 
 hair, and every detail about her dress, which owed all its 
 charm to the graceful outlines which it displayed. 
 
 The Marquis and the Count returned to the ballroom, and 
 stood behind Mile, de Verneuil, who did not turn her head ; 
 but even if a mirror opposite to her had not informed her of 
 the Marquis' presence, she would have learned it from the 
 face of Mme. du Gua, whose apparent carelessness concealed 
 but illy the anxiety with which she awaited the dispute that 
 must sooner or later take place between the lovers. Although 
 Montauran was talking with the Count and with two other
 
 276 THE CHOUANS. 
 
 persons, he could overhear the chat of his neighbors and of 
 each pair of dancers, as, in the shifting figures of the quadrille, 
 they stood for a moment where Mile, de Verneuil had been. 
 
 " Oh ! man Dieu ; yes, madame, she came here by herself," 
 said one. 
 
 " She must be very fearless," his partner replied. 
 
 " If I had dressed myself like that, I should feel as if I 
 had no clothes on," said another lady. 
 
 "Oh! the costume is indelicate," her cavalier answered, 
 " but she is so pretty, and it is very becoming to her." 
 
 " Look at her ! She dances so perfectly that it makes one 
 blush for her. Is she not exactly like an opera girl?" the 
 envious lady inquired. 
 
 " Do you think that she can have come here to treat 
 with us in the name of the First Consul?" asked a third 
 lady. 
 
 " What a joke ! " said her partner. 
 
 "She will scarcely bring innocence with her as a dowry," 
 laughed the lady. 
 
 The Gars turned sharply round to see the speaker who had 
 ventured to make such an epigram, and Mme. du Gua gave 
 him a look which said distinctly 
 
 " You see what they think of her ! " 
 
 "Madame," the Count said jestingly to Marie's enemy, 
 " only ladies so far have deprived her of it." 
 
 In his heart the Marquis forgave the Count for all his 
 offences. He ventured to glance at Marie. Her loveliness 
 was enhanced, as is nearly always the case with women, by the 
 candle-light. She reached her place, her back was turned 
 towards him, but as she talked with her partner the persuasive 
 tones of her voice reached the Marquis. 
 
 " The First Consul is sending us very formidable ambassa- 
 dors ! " her partner remarked. 
 
 "That has been said already, sir, at the Vivetiere," she 
 replied.
 
 A DAY WITHOUT A MORROW. 277 
 
 " Your memory is as good as the King's ! " returned the 
 gentleman, vexed at his own awkwardness. 
 
 " Offences must be clearly kept in mind if they are to be 
 forgiven," she said quickly, and a smile released him from his 
 predicament. 
 
 "Are all of us included in the amnesty! " the Marquis 
 asked, But she flung herself into the dance with childish 
 enthusiasm, leaving him confused, and with his question 
 unanswered. She saw how he was watching her in sullen 
 gloom, and bent her head in a coquettish manner, which dis- 
 played the symmetry of her neck, heedful, at the same time, 
 to omit no movement which could reveal the wonderful grace 
 of her form. Marie's beauty was attractive as hope, and 
 elusive as memory. To see her thus was to wish to possess 
 her at any cost. She knew this, and the consciousness of her 
 own beauty made her face at that moment radiant with inde- 
 scribable loveliness. The Marquis felt a tempest of love, 
 anger, and madness raging in his heart ; he wrung the Count's 
 hand, and withdrew. 
 
 'Ah ! has he gone away? " asked Mile, de Verneuil when 
 she came back to her place. 
 
 The Count hurried into the adjoining room, and thence 
 brought back the Gars, making a significant gesture for the 
 lady to whom he had extended his protection. 
 
 " He is mine ! " she said within herself as she studied the 
 Marquis in the mirror ; his face was somewhat agitated, but 
 he was radiant with hope. 
 
 She received the young chief ungraciously, and did not 
 vouchsafe a word to him, but she smiled as she turned away ; 
 she saw him so far above the others, that she felt proud of her 
 tyrannous power over him. Guided by an instinct that all 
 women obey more or less, she determined to make him pay 
 a heavy price for a few kind words, in order that he might 
 learn their value. When the quadrille came to an end, all 
 the gentlemen who had been at the Vivetiere came about
 
 278 THE CHOUANS. 
 
 Marie, each one endeavoring to obtain her forgiveness for his 
 mistake by compliments more or less neatly turned. But he 
 whom she would fain have seen at her feet kept away from her 
 little court. 
 
 " He thinks that I love him yet," she said to herself, " and 
 he will not make one among those to whom I am indifferent." 
 
 She declined to dance. Then, as if the ball had been given 
 in her honor, she went from quadrille to quadrille, leaning 
 upon the arm of the Comte de Bauvan, with whom it pleased 
 her to appear to be on familiar terms. There was no one 
 present who did not know the whole history of what had 
 happened at the Vivetiere, down to the smallest detail, thanks 
 to Madame du Gua, who hoped, by this very publicity given 
 to the affairs of Mile, de Verneuil and the Marquis, to put a 
 further hindrance to any understanding between them. In 
 this way the two estranged lovers became objects of general 
 interest. Montauran did not dare to approach her; the 
 recollection of her wrongs and the vehemence of his reawak- 
 ened desires made her almost terrible in his eyes ; and the 
 young girl, though she seemed to give her attention to the 
 dancers, was watching his face and its forced composure. 
 
 "It is dreadfully hot in here," she said to her cavalier. 
 "I see that M. de Montauran's forehead is quite damp. Will 
 you take me across to the other side, so that I can breathe ? 
 This is stifling." 
 
 With a movement of the head, she indicated the next room, 
 where a few card-players were sitting. The Marquis followed 
 her, as if he had guessed at the words from the movements of 
 her lips. He even hoped that she had left the crowd in order 
 to see him once more, and with this hope the violence of his 
 passion grew with redoubled force after the restraint that he 
 had imposed upon himself for the last few days. It pleased 
 Mile, de Verneuil to torment the young chief. Those eyes of 
 hers, so like velvet, and so gentle for the Count, became cold 
 and gloomy for him, if he met their gaze by chance. Mon-
 
 A DAY WITHOUT A MORKOW. 279 
 
 tauran made an effort that seemed to cost him something, and 
 said in an uncertain voice 
 
 " Will you never forgive me? " 
 
 "Love forgives nothing unless it forgives everything," she 
 said, in a dry, indifferent tone. Then, as she saw him give a 
 sudden start of joy, she added, "but it must be love." 
 
 She rose, took the Count's arm, and hastened to a little 
 sitting-room adjoining the cardroom. The Marquis followed 
 her thither. 
 
 " You shall hear me ! " he cried. 
 
 "You will make others imagine, sir," she replied, "that I 
 came here on your account, and not out of respect for myself. 
 If you will not desist from this detestable persecution, I shall 
 
 g-" 
 
 Then he bethought himself of one of the wildest extrava- 
 gances of the last Duke of Lorraine. " Let me speak to 
 you," he entreated, " only for so long as I can keep this coal 
 in my hand." 
 
 He stooped, snatched up a firebrand from the hearth, and 
 held it in a strenuous grasp. Mile, de Verneuil reddened, drew 
 her arm quickly from the Count, and looked in amazement at 
 the Marquis. The Count softly withdrew and left the lovers 
 alone. Nothing is so convincing in a lover as some piece of 
 splendid folly his mad courage had shaken Marie's very heart. 
 
 "You simply show me," she said, trying to compel him to 
 drop the coal, " that you would be capable of giving me over 
 to the worst of tortures. You are all for extremes. You 
 believed the evidence of a fool and a woman's slander ; you 
 suspected that she who came to save your life was capable of 
 betraying you." 
 
 "Yes," he said, smiling. " I have been cruel to you, but 
 you must forget that ; I shall never forget it. Ah ! hear me. 
 I was infamously deceived ; but so many things on that 
 wretched day all told against you." 
 
 " And those things were enough to extinguish your love? "
 
 280 THE CHOUANS. 
 
 He hesitated a moment ; with a scornful movement she 
 rose. 
 
 "Marie," he said, "just now, I wish to believe you, and 
 you only." 
 
 " Then drop that coal ! You must be mad. Open your 
 hand ; do as I wish." 
 
 He delighted in the feeble resistance he made to her gentle 
 efforts; he wanted to prolong the keen pleasure that he felt in 
 the pressure of her little fingers ; but she succeeded at last in 
 opening the hand she felt she could have kissed. The fire 
 had been extinguished in blood. 
 
 " Now," she said, " what was the use of doing that ? " 
 
 She tore little strips from her handkerchief and dressed the 
 wound ; it was not very serious, and the Marquis easily con- 
 cealed it under his glove. Madame du Gua came into the 
 card-room on tiptoe, and furtively watched the lovers, cleverly 
 keeping herself out of their sight, noting from behind them 
 their slightest movements; yet she found it difficult to guess 
 at their talk from anything that she saw them do. 
 
 " If everything that you have heard against me were true, 
 admit, at least, that now I am well avenged," said Marie; 
 there was a malignity in her expression that made the Mar- 
 quis turn pale. 
 
 "What feeling was it that brought you here?" asked the 
 Marquis. 
 
 " My dear boy, you are a great coxcomb. Do you think 
 you can insult such a woman as I am with impunity? I came 
 here for your sake, and for mine," she added after a pause, 
 laying her hand on the cluster of rubies at her breast, and 
 showing him the blade of a poniard. 
 
 " What does all this mean ? " meditated Madame du Gua. 
 
 " But you love me still," Marie went on ; " or at least, you 
 wish for me; and that piece of folly of yours," she said, 
 taking the hand in hers, " made it clear to me. I am again 
 as I had wished to be, and I shall go away happy. Those
 
 A DAY WITHOUT A MORROW. 281 
 
 who love us we always forgive. And I I am loved ; I have 
 regained the respect, the man who is for me the whole world ; 
 I could die now." 
 
 " You love me yet ? " said the Marquis. 
 
 "Did I say so?" she replied; she laughed; she was 
 happy, for ever since her arrival she had made the Marquis 
 feel increasing torment. " But had I not some sacrifices to 
 make in order to come here ? For I saved M. de Bauvan 
 from death," she went on, " and he, more grateful than you, 
 has offered me his name and fortune in return for my protec- 
 tion. That idea never entered your mind." 
 
 Her last words astonished the Marquis ; the Count ap- 
 peared to have made a fool of him ; he struggled with a 
 feeling of anger stronger than any that he had yet known, 
 and did not reply. 
 
 " Ah, you are deliberating ! " she said, with a bitter smile. 
 
 " Mademoiselle, your misgivings justify mine." 
 
 "Let us go back," said Mile, de Verneuil, who caught a 
 glimpse of Madame du Gua's robe in the card-room. 
 
 Marie rose ; but a wish to torment her rival made her hesi- 
 tate a little. 
 
 "Do you want to plunge me into hell?" asked the Mar- 
 quis, taking her hand and holding it tightly. 
 
 "Where did you plunge me five days ago? And now, 
 now at this moment, are you not leaving me in cruel suspense 
 as to the sincerity of your love ? " 
 
 " How do I know that your vengeance may not go so far as 
 this to take possession of my whole life, so that you may 
 sully it, rather than compass my death 
 
 " Ah, you do not love me ; you only think of yourself, and 
 not of me," she said, with angry tears in her eyes. 
 
 The coquette knew well the power of those eyes of hers 
 when they were drowned in tears. 
 
 " Take my life, then," said the Marquis, now quite beside 
 himself, ' but dry those tears."
 
 282 THE CHOUANS. 
 
 " Oh my love," she murmured ; " the words, the tones, the 
 look that I waited for, to wish for thy happiness rather than 
 mine. But my lord," she resumed, " I ask for one last proof 
 of your affection, that you tell me is so great. I can stay 
 here only for a little, only for the time needed to make sure 
 that you are mine. I shall not take even a glass of water in 
 this house, where a woman lives who has twice tried to mur- 
 der me, who at this moment perhaps is planning some treachery 
 against us both, and who is listening to us at this moment," 
 she added, pointing out to the Marquis the floating folds of 
 Madame du Gua's robe. 
 
 Then she dried her tears, and bent to the ear of the young 
 noble, who trembled to feel her soft breath on him. 
 
 " Prepare everything so that we can go," she said. " You 
 will take me back to Fougeres, and there you shall know 
 whether I love you or not. For the second time I trust in you. 
 Will you,too,trust a second time in me?" 
 
 " Ah, Marie, you have led me on till I scarcely know what 
 I am doing. Your words, your looks, your presence intoxicate 
 me. I am ready to do everything you wish." 
 
 "Well, then, give me one moment's bliss. Let me enjoy 
 the only triumph for which I have longed. I want to breathe 
 freely once more, to live the life of my dreams, to take my 
 fill of illusions, before they leave me. Let us go. Come and 
 dance with me." 
 
 They went back again together into the ballroom. For her 
 the gratification of heart and of vanity had been as complete 
 as a woman can know ; but her inscrutable soft eyes, the mys- 
 terious smile about her mouth, and her swift movements in 
 the excited dance, kept the secret of Mile, de Verneuil's 
 thoughts as the sea buries the secret of some criminal who 
 has given a heavy corpse into its keeping. Yet a murmur of 
 admiration went through the room as she turned to her lover's 
 arms for the waltz ; and closely interlocked, with drooping 
 heads and languid eyes, they swayed voluptuously round and
 
 A DAY WITHOUT A MORROW. 283 
 
 round, clasping each other in a kind of frenzy, revealing all 
 their hopes of pleasure from a closer union. 
 
 "Go and see if Pille-Miche is in the camp, Count," said 
 Mme. du Gua to M. de Bauvan. " Bring him to me ; and for 
 this little service you may assure yourself that you shall receive 
 anything that you will ask of me, even my hand. My re- 
 venge will cost me dear," she said, as she saw him go ; " but 
 it shall not fail this time." 
 
 " A few moments after this scene Mile, de Verneuil and the 
 Marquis were seated in a berline drawn by four strong horses. 
 Francine did not utter a word. She was surprised to see the 
 two who to all appearance had been foes now sitting hand in 
 hand and on such good terms with each other. She did not 
 even venture to put the question to herself whether this meant 
 love or treachery on her mistress' part. Thanks to the stillness 
 and the darkness of night, the Marquis could not perceive 
 Mile, de Verneuil's agitation, which increased as she drew 
 nearer and nearer to Fougeres. Through the faint dusk they 
 could see the spire of St. Leonard's church in the distance; 
 and then " I shall die," said Marie to herself. 
 
 When they reached the first hill on the road, the same 
 thought came to both the lovers ; they left the carriage, and 
 slowly walked up the hill, as if in memory of that first day 
 of their meeting. 
 
 Marie took Montauran's arm, and thanked him by a smile 
 for having respected her silence. When they reached the 
 stretch of level ground at the summit, whence they could see 
 Fougeres, she emerged from her reverie. 
 
 " Come no further," she said , "my authority will not save 
 you from the Blues to-day." 
 
 Montauran showed some astonishment at this ; but she 
 smiled sadly and pointed to a massive boulder, as if to bid 
 him to be seated, while she herself remained standing in a 
 melancholy attitude. The heartrending grief within her 
 made the artifices which she had used so lavishly no longer
 
 284 THE CHOUANS. 
 
 possible to her. She could have knelt on burning coals just 
 then, and have been no more conscious of them than the 
 Marquis had been of the brand which he had seized to make 
 known the vehemence of his passion. After looking long at 
 her lover with the deepest sorrow in her gaze, she pronounced 
 the terrible words 
 
 " All your suspicions of me are true." 
 The Marquis made an unconscious movement. 
 "Ah! for pity's sake," she cried, clasping her hands, 
 " hear me to the end without interrupting me. I am really 
 the daughter of the Due de Verneuil," she went on in an 
 unsteady voice ; " but I am only his natural daughter. My 
 mother, a Mile, de Casteran, took the veil to escape from the 
 punishment which her family had prepared for her. She 
 expiated her fault by fifteen years of weeping, and died 
 at Seez. It was only at the last, when on her deathbed, that 
 the dear abbess, for my sake, sent an entreaty to the man 
 who had forsaken her ; for she knew that I had neither 
 friends, nor fortune, nor prospects. This man, who was well 
 remembered in Francine's home (for I had been confided to 
 her mother's care), had quite forgotten his child. Yet the 
 Duke welcomed me gladly, and recognized my claim upon him 
 because I was pretty, and perhaps, too, because I brought 
 back memories of his younger days. He was one of those 
 great lords who, in the previous reign, took a pride in show- 
 ing how that, if a crime were but gracefully perpetrated, 
 it needs must be condoned. I will say no more about him ; 
 he was my father. And yet you must suffer me to explain 
 how my life in Paris could not but leave my mind tainted. 
 In the Due de Verneuil's circle, and in the society into which 
 he introduced me, there was a craze for the sceptical philos- 
 ophy which France had accepted with enthusiasm, because it 
 was put forward everywhere with so much ability. The 
 brilliant talk that pleased my ears found favor with me on 
 account of the keenness of apprehension displayed in it, or
 
 A DAY WITHOUT A MORROW. 285 
 
 by reason of the cleverly-turned formulas which brought con- 
 tempt upon religion and upon truth. The men who made 
 light of feelings and opinions expressed them all the better 
 because they had never felt or held them ; and their epigram- 
 matic turn of expression was not more attractive than the 
 lively ease with which they could put a whole story into a 
 word. Sometimes, however, their cleverness misled them ; 
 and women found them wearisome when love-making became 
 a science rather than an affair of the heart. I made a feeble 
 resistance to this torrent, although my soul (forgive me for my 
 vanity) was impassioned enough to feel that esprit had with- 
 ered all these natures about me ; the life that I led in those 
 days ended in a chronic strife between my natural disposition 
 and the warped habits of mind that I had acquired. A few 
 aspiring intellects had amused themselves by encouraging me 
 in a freedom of thought and a contempt for public opinion 
 that deprives a woman of a certain reticence, without which 
 she has no charm. Alas ! it has not been in the power of 
 adversity to correct the defects which prosperity implanted in 
 me," and she sighed. 
 
 "My father, the Due de Verneuil," she resumed, "died 
 after recognizing me as his daughter, leaving a will which 
 considerably diminished the estate of my half-brother, his 
 legitimate son, in my favor. One morning I found myself 
 without a protector or a roof above my head. My brother 
 disputed the will which had enriched me. My vanity had been 
 developed during the past three years that had been spent in 
 a wealthy household. My father had indulged all my fancies ; 
 to him I owed a craving for luxury, and habits in which my 
 simple and inexperienced mind failed to recognize a perilous 
 bondage. The Marshal Due de Leoncourt, one of my 
 father's friends, a man of seventy, offered to become my 
 guardian. I accepted his offer ; and a few days after a detest- 
 able law-suit had begun, I found myself in a splendid house, 
 where I was in full possession of all the advantages that a
 
 286 THE CHOUANS. 
 
 brother's unkindness had refused to me over our father's 
 coffin. The old Marshal used to come to spend a few hours 
 with me every evening ; and from him I heard only gentle 
 and soothing words. His white hair and all the touching 
 proofs of paternal tenderness which he gave me led me to 
 believe that the feelings of my own heart were likewise his ; 
 and I liked to think that I was his daughter. I took the 
 ornaments that he gave to me, and made no secret of any of 
 my fancies when I saw him so glad to indulge them. One 
 evening I discovered that all Paris looked upon me as the 
 poor old man's mistress. It was made clear to me that I 
 could never re-establish my innocence, of which I had been 
 groundlessly deprived. The man who had taken advantage 
 of my inexperience could not be my lover, and would not be 
 my husband. In the week in which I made this hideous dis- 
 covery, and on the eve of the day that had been fixed for my 
 marriage for I had insisted that he should give me his name, 
 the one reparation that it was in his power to make me he sud- 
 denly started for Coblentz. I was ignominiously driven from 
 the little house in which the Marshal had installed me, and 
 which was not his own property. So far I have told the 
 truth to you as if I stood before the judgment throne ; but 
 after this point do not ask for a complete list of all the suffer- 
 ings that lie buried in the memory of an unhappy girl. One 
 day, sir, I found myself Danton's wife. A few days later, 
 and the great oak-tree about which I had cast my arms was 
 uprooted by the tempest. Then, when plunged for the second 
 time into utter misery, I determined to die. I do not know 
 if it was mere love of life, or the hope of outwearing misfor- 
 tune, and so of finding at last, in the depths of this infinite 
 abyss, the happiness that eluded my grasp, or by what other 
 motive I was unconsciously counseled. I know not whether I 
 was led away by the arguments of the young man from Ven- 
 dome, who, for the past two years, has hung about me like a 
 serpent about a tree, thinking, no doubt, that some over-
 
 A DAY WITHOUT A MORROW. 287 
 
 whelming misfortune may give me to him. Indeed, I do not 
 know how I came to accept this hateful mission, of winning 
 the love of a stranger whom I was to betray for three hundred 
 thousand francs ! Then I saw you, sir, and I knew you at 
 once. I knew it by one of those presentiments that never 
 lead us astray ; and yet I was glad to doubt it, for the more I 
 loved you, the more appalling the conviction grew for me. 
 When I rescued you from Hulot's clutches, I foreswore the part 
 that I was playing ; I determined to outwit the executioners 
 instead of deceiving their victim. It was wrong of me to play 
 in that way with men's lives, and with their schemes, and 
 with myself, with all the heedlessness of a girl who can see 
 nothing but sentiment in the world. I thought that I was 
 loved, and allowed the hope of beginning my life anew to be 
 my guide ; but everything about me, and even I myself, per- 
 haps, betrayed my lawless past, for you must have mistrusted a 
 woman with so passionate a nature as mine. Alas ! who could 
 refuse forgiveness to me for my love and my dissimulation ! 
 Yes, sir, I felt as though, after a long and uneasy sleep, I had 
 awakened to find myself a girl of sixteen again. Was I not 
 in Alencon ? The pure and innocent memories of my childish 
 days there rose up before me. My wild credulity led me to 
 think that love would give me a baptism of innocence. For a 
 little while I thought that I was a maiden still, for as yet I had 
 never loved. But yesterday evening it seemed to me that 
 there was sincerity in your passion ; and a voice within me 
 cried, 'Why do you deceive him?' Know this, therefore, 
 Marquis," she went on, in a deep, hard voice which seemed 
 proudly to demand her own condemnation " know this for a 
 certainty, that I am only a dishonored creature and unworthy 
 of you. From this moment I will resume my role of cast- 
 away ; I am too weary to sustain any longer the part of the 
 woman whom you had led to yield herself to all the most 
 sacred impulses of her heart. Virtue weighs me down; I 
 should despise you if you were weak enough to marry me. A
 
 288 THE C1IOUANS. 
 
 Comte de Bauvan might perhaps commit such a folly ; but 
 you, sir, be worthy of your future, and leave me without re- 
 gret. The courtesan, you see. would require too much ; she 
 would love you in nowise like a simple and artless girl she 
 who felt in her heart for a little while the exquisite hope that 
 she might be your companion, that she might make you always 
 happy and do you honor, and be a noble and high-minded 
 wife to you ; and who, through these very thoughts that moved 
 her, gathered courage, and revived her evil nature of vice and 
 infamy, so as to set it between herself and you as an eternal 
 barrier. I give up honor and fortune for your sake. The 
 pride which lays this sacrifice upon me will uphold me in ,my 
 wretchedness, and my fate I leave to the disposal of destiny. 
 I will never betray you. I shall go back to Paris ; and when 
 I am there your name will be another separate self to me ; 
 and the splendid heroism with which you will invest it will be 
 my consolation in all my sorrows. As for you, you are a 
 man; you will forget me farewell." 
 
 She fled in the direction of the valleys of St. Sulpice, 
 and vanished before the Marquis had risen to delay her ; but 
 she retraced her steps, hid herself in a fissure of the rocks, 
 raised her head, and anxiously and doubtfully studied the 
 Marquis. He was walking on without heeding the direction 
 in which be went, like a man distraught. 
 
 "If his should be a weak nature," she said to herself as he 
 disappeared, and she felt herself cut off from him, " will he 
 understand me ! " 
 
 She trembled. Then she suddenly walked on towards 
 Fougeres by herself, with rapid steps, as if she feared that the 
 Marquis might follow her to the town, where he would have 
 met with his death. 
 
 "Well, Francine, what did he say?" she asked of her 
 faithful Breton, as soon as they were together again. 
 
 "Alas ! Marie, I was sorry for him. You great ladies can 
 stab a man to the heart with a bitter word."
 
 A DAY WITHOUT A .MORROW. 289 
 
 " What was he like when he came up with you ? " she asked 
 Francine. 
 
 " Did he so much as see me ? Oh ! Marie, he loves you ! " 
 
 "Oh, he loves me, or he loves me not ! " she answered, 
 two words that mean heaven or hell for me ; and between 
 those two extremes I cannot find a place on which to set 
 my foot." 
 
 After she had accomplished the task laid upon her by fate, 
 Marie could give way to her sorrow. Her face had kept its 
 composure hitherto, owing to a mixture of different sentiments 
 within her, but now it underwent a rapid change, so that after 
 a day spent in fluctuating between presentiments of joy or 
 despair, her beauty lost its radiance and the freshness which 
 owes its existence either to the absence of all passion or to 
 transports of happiness. Hulot and Corentin came to see 
 her shortly after her arrival, curious to know the results of her 
 wild enterprise. Marie received them smilingly. 
 
 "Well," she said to the commandant, whose anxious face 
 looked searchingly at her, "the fox is coming within range 
 of your guns again, and you will soon gain a very glorious 
 victory ! " 
 
 " What has happened ? " Corentin inquired carelessly. He 
 gave Mile, de Verneuil a sidelong glance, such as this sort of 
 diplomatist uses for discovering the thoughts of others. 
 
 " Ah ! " she answered, " the Gars is more in love with me 
 than ever, and I made him come with us as far as the gates 
 of Fougeres." 
 
 " Apparently that is where your power ends," said Corentin, 
 and the ei-devanf s fears are still stronger than the love which 
 you inspire in him." 
 
 Mile, de Verneuil glanced contemptuously at Corentin. 
 
 "You judge him by yourself," she replied. 
 
 "Well," he said, serenely, " why did you not bring him 
 as far as your own house? " 
 
 "If he really loved me, commandant," she said to Hulot, 
 19
 
 290 THE CHOUANS. 
 
 with a malicious glance, " would you bear a grudge against 
 me if I saved him and bore him away out of France? " 
 
 The old veteran went quickly up to her, and took her hand 
 as if to kiss it, with a sort of enthusiasm ; then he gazed 
 steadily at her and said, as his brow grew dark 
 
 " Vou forget my two friends, and my sixty-three men ! " 
 
 "Ah! commandant," she said, with all the naivete of 
 passion, "that was not his fault, he was tricked by a bad 
 woman, Charette's mistress, who, I believe, would drink the 
 blood of the Blues." 
 
 "Come, Marie," Corentin put in, "do not make fun of 
 the commandant ; he does not understand your jests as yet." 
 
 "Be silent," she answered, "and know that the day on 
 whicli you annoy me a little too much will be your last." 
 
 " I see, mademoiselle," said Hulot with no bitterness in 
 his tone, " that I must prepare to fight." 
 
 "You are in no condition to do so, my dear colonel. I 
 saw more than six thousand of their men at Saint James ; 
 regular troops, and ordnance, and English officers. But with- 
 out him, what will become of all these people ? I think, as 
 Fouche does, that his head is everything." 
 
 "Very well, when shall we have it?" Corentin asked im- 
 patiently. 
 
 " I do not know," was her careless response. 
 
 "English officers!" cried Hulot, in hot wrath, "the one 
 thing wanting to make a downright brigand of him ! Ah ! 
 I will fit him up with his Englishmen, that I will ! It seems 
 to me, citizen diplomatist, that you allow that girl to upset all 
 your plans from time to time," was Hulot's remark to Coren- 
 tin, when they were a few paces distant from the house. 
 
 "It is quite natural, citizen commandant," said Corentin, 
 with a pensive air, " that you are bewildered by all that she 
 has told us. You men of the sword do not know that there 
 are several ways of making war. To make a dexterous use 
 of the passions of men and women, as so many springs which
 
 A DAY WITHOUT A MORROW. 291 
 
 can be set in motion for the benefit of the State ; to set in 
 position all the wheels in the mighty piece of machinery that 
 we call a government ; to take a pleasure in setting within it 
 the most stubborn sentiments, like detents whose action one 
 can amuse oneself by controlling ; is not all this the work of a 
 creator? Is it not a position like God's, in the centre of the 
 universe? " 
 
 "You will permit me to prefer my trade to yours," the 
 soldier answered drily. " Do as you will with that machinery 
 of yours ; I acknowledge no superior but the Minister of War. 
 I have my instructions, and I shall take the field with stout 
 fellows who will not skulk, and openly confront the enemy 
 whom you wish to take from behind." 
 
 " Oh, you can get ready to march if you like," Corentin 
 rejoined. " Inscrutable as you may think this girl, I have 
 managed to gather from her that there will be some skirmish- 
 ing for you ; and before very long I shall have the pleasure 
 of obtaining for you a ttle-a-tt>te with the chief of these bri- 
 gands. " 
 
 " How will you do that ? " inquired Hulot, stepping back a 
 little, the better to see this singular being. 
 
 " Mile, de Verneuil loves the Gars," Corentin answered in 
 a stifled voice," and very likely he is in love with her. He 
 is a Marquis, he wears the red ribbon, he is young, and he has 
 a clever head, who knows but that he may still be wealthy 
 how many inducements ! She would be very foolish not to 
 play for her own hand, and try to marry him rather than 
 give him up to us. She is endeavoring to keep us amused, 
 but I can read a kind of misgiving in the girl's eyes. The 
 two lovers will most probably arrange a meeting, perhaps they 
 have done so already. Well, then, to-morrow I shall have 
 my man fast enough. Hitherto he was the enemy of the 
 Republic and nothing more, but a few minutes ago he became 
 mine as well, for all those who have taken it into their heads 
 to come between this girl and me have died on the scaffold."
 
 21)2 THE CHOUANS. 
 
 When he had finished, Corentin became too much absorbed 
 in his own meditations to notice the expression of intense dis- 
 gust on the true-hearted soldier's face. When Hulot became 
 aware of the depths in this intrigue, and of the nature of the 
 springs employed in Fouche's machinery, he made up his 
 mind at once to thwart Corentin in every matter in which 
 the success of the enterprise or the wishes of the government 
 were not essentially concerned, and to give to the foe of the 
 Republic a chance of dying honorably sword in hand, before 
 he could fall a victim to the executioner, whose avowed 
 caterer stood before him in the person of this secret agent of 
 the upper powers of the police. 
 
 " If the First Consul were to take my advice," he said, 
 turning his back on Corentin, " he would leave this kind of 
 fox to fight it out with the aristocrats they would be well 
 matched and he should employ soldiers in quite other 
 business." 
 
 Corentin looked coolly at the veteran (whose thoughts shone 
 out plainly in his face), and a sardonic expression returned to 
 his eyes, revealing a sense of superiority in this Machiavelian 
 understrapper. 
 
 "Give three ells of blue cloth to brutes of that sort, and 
 hang a bit of iron at their sides, and they fancy that in poli- 
 tics men may only be got rid of after one fashion," said he to 
 himself. He walked slowly on for a few minutes, and sud- 
 denly exclaimed within 
 
 " Yes, the hour has come, and the woman shall be mine 1 
 The circle that I have traced about her has been gradually 
 growing smaller and smaller for five years ; I have her now, 
 and with her help I shall climb as high in the government as 
 Fouche. Yes, when she loses the one man whom she has 
 loved, the agony of it will give her to me body and soul. 
 All that I have to do now is to keep a watch on her night 
 and day, to surprise her secret." 
 
 A moment later an onlooker might have seen Corentin 's
 
 A DAY WITH OUT A MORROW. 293 
 
 pale face at the window of a house whence he could behold 
 every one who came into the blind alley, between the row 
 of houses and St. Leonard's church. He was there again 
 on the morning of the next day ; patient as a cat that lies 
 in wait for a mouse, attentive to the slightest sound, and 
 engaged in submitting every passer-by to a rigorous scrutiny. 
 It was the morning of a market day ; and although in those 
 troubled times the peasants scarcely ventured to come to the 
 town, Corentin saw a gloomy looking man clad in goatskins, 
 who carried a small round flat-shaped basket on his arm, 
 and who went towards Mile, de Verneuil's house, after giving 
 a careless look round about him. Corentin came down 
 from his post, purposing to stop the peasant as he came 
 out ; but it suddenly occurred to him that if he could enter 
 Mile, de Verneuil's house unawares, a single glance might 
 possibly surprise the secret hidden in the messenger's basket. 
 Popular report, moreover, had taught him that it was all but 
 impossible to come off best in an encounter with the impene- 
 trable replies that Normans and Bretons are wont to make. 
 
 " Galope-Chopine ! " cried Mile, de Verneuil, as Francine 
 brought in the Chouan. 
 
 "Am I then beloved?" she added to herself in a low 
 voice. An instinct of hope brought a bright color to her 
 face, and put joy in her heart. Galope-Chopine looked by 
 turns at the mistress of the house and at Francine, casting 
 suspicious glances at the latter, until his doubts were removed 
 by a sign from Mile, de Verneuil. 
 
 " Madame," he said, " towards two o'clock he will be at 
 my place, waiting for you." 
 
 Mile, de Verneuil's agitation was so great that she could only 
 bend her head in reply, but a Samoyede could have understood 
 all its significance. Corentin's footsteps echoed in the salon 
 at that moment. Galope-Chopine was not disturbed in the 
 least when Mile, de Verneuil's glance and shudder made him 
 aware of approaching danger. As soon as the spy showed his
 
 294 THE CHOUANS. 
 
 astute countenance, the Chouan raised his voice to a deafening 
 pitch. 
 
 " Yes, yes ! " he said to Francine, " there is Brittany butter 
 and Brittany butter. You want Gibarry butter, and only give 
 eleven sous the pound for it ? You ought not to have sent for 
 me ! This is really good butter," he said, opening his basket, 
 and exhibiting two pats that Barbette had made up. " Pay a 
 fair price, good lady. Come, another sou! " There was no 
 trace of agitation in his hollow voice, and his green eyes, un- 
 derneath the bushy gray eyebrows, bore Corentin's keen 
 scrutiny without flinching. 
 
 "Come now my man, hold your tongue. You did not 
 come here to sell butter ; you are dealing with a lady who 
 never drove a bargain in her life. Your line of business, old 
 boy, will leave you shorter by a head some of these days." 
 
 Corentin tapped him amicably on the shoulder and contin- 
 ued, " You cannot be in the service of both Chouans and 
 Blues at once for very long." 
 
 It took all Galope-Chopine's self-possession to choke down 
 his wrath, and so prevent himself from rebutting this accusa- 
 tion, which, owing to his avarice, was a true one. He con- 
 tented himself with saying 
 
 " The gentleman has a mind to laugh at me." 
 
 Corentin had turned his back upon the Chouan ; but as he 
 greeted Mile, de Verneuil, whose heart stood still with terror, 
 he could easily watch the man in the mirror. Galope-Cho- 
 pine, who believed that the spy could no longer see him, 
 looked inquiringly at Francine, and Francine pointed to the 
 door, saying 
 
 " Come along with me, good man ; we shall always manage 
 to settle things comfortably." 
 
 Nothing had been lost upon Corentin. He had seen every- 
 thing. He had noticed the contraction of Mile, de Verneuil's 
 mouth, which her smile had failed to disguise ; and her red 
 flush, and the alteration in her features, as well as the Chouan's
 
 A DAY WITHOUT A MORROW. 295 
 
 uneasiness and Francine's gesture. He felt certain that Galope- 
 Chopine was a messenger from the Marquis, caught at the 
 long hair of the man's goatskins, stopped him just as he was 
 going out, drew him back so that he confronted his own 
 steady gaze, and said 
 
 "Where do you live, my good friend? / want but- 
 ter " 
 
 "Good gentleman," the Chouan answered, "everybody in 
 Fougeres knows where I live. I am, as you may say 
 
 " Corentin ! " cried Mile, de Verneuil, breaking in upon 
 Galope-Chopine's answer, "it is a great piece of presumption 
 on your part to pay me a visit at this time of day, and to take 
 me by surprise like this ! I am scarcely dressed ! Leave the 
 peasant in peace, he understands your tactics as little as I 
 understand your motives for them. Go, good fellow ! " 
 
 Galope-Chopine hesitated for a moment before he went. 
 The indecision of an unlucky wretch who cannot tell whom 
 he must obey, whether it was real or feigned, had already suc- 
 ceeded in deceiving Corentin ; and the Chouan, at an imper- 
 ative gesture from Marie, tramped heavily away. Then Mme. 
 de Verneuil and Corentin looked at one another in silence. 
 This time Marie's clear eyes could not endure the intensity 
 of the arid glare that was shed upon her in the other's gaze. 
 The determined manner with which the spy had made his 
 way into her room, an expression on his face which was new 
 to Marie, the dull sound of his thin voice, his attitude, every- 
 thing about him, alarmed her. She felt that a secret struggle 
 had begun between them, and that he was exerting all the 
 powers of his sinister influence against her ; but although at 
 that moment she distinctly beheld the full extent of the gulf, 
 and the depths to which she had consigned herself, she drew 
 sufficient strength from her love to shake off the icy cold of 
 her presentiments. 
 
 " Corentin," she began with an attempt at mirth, " I hope 
 you will allow me to finish my toilet."
 
 296 THE CHOUANS. 
 
 " Marie," said he, " yes, allow me to call you so you 
 do not know me yet ! Listen ! A less sharp-sighted man 
 than I am would have found out your love for the Marquis de 
 Montauran before this. I have again and again offered you 
 my heart and my hand. You did not think me worthy of 
 you, and perhaps you are right ; but if you think that you are 
 too much above me, too beautiful or too high-minded for me, 
 I can easily make you come down to my level. My ambitions 
 and my doctrines have inspired you with scanty respect for 
 me, and, to be plain with you, you are wrong. The value of 
 men is even less than my estimate of them, and I rate them 
 at next to nothing. There can be no doubt but that I shall 
 attain to a high position, to honors that will gratify your 
 pride. Who will love you better than I ? Over whom will 
 you have such an absolute dominion as over the man who has 
 loved you for five years past ? At the risk of making an im- 
 pression upon you which will not be in my favor (for you have 
 no idea that it is possible to renounce, through excess of love, 
 the woman whom one worships), I will give you a measure of 
 the disinterested affection with which I adore you. Do not 
 shake your pretty head in that way. If the Marquis loves 
 you, marry him, but first make quite sure of his sincerity. If 
 I knew that you were disappointed in him, I should be in 
 despair, for your happiness is dearer to me than my own. 
 My determination may surprise you, but you must ascribe it 
 simply to the prudence of a man who is not fool enough to 
 wish to possess a woman against her will. I blame myself, 
 moreover, and not you, for the futility of my efforts. I hoped 
 to win you by dint of submission and devotion ; for, as you 
 know, a long time past I have tried to make you happy, 
 after my notions ; but you have thought fit to reward me for 
 nothing." 
 
 " I have endured your presence," she said haughtily. 
 
 " Say further that you are sorry to have done so," Corentin 
 curtly retorted.
 
 A DAY WITHOUT A MORROW. 297 
 
 " After you have committed me to this disgraceful enter- 
 prise, are thanks still owing to you ? " 
 
 " When I proposed an undertaking to you, in which timor- 
 ous souls might find something blameworthy, I had only your 
 fortune in view," he answered audaciously. " As for me, 
 whether I succeed or fail, I can now make every sort of result 
 conduce to the ultimate success of my plans. If you should 
 marry Montauran, I shall be delighted to make myself useful 
 to the Bourbon cause in Paris, where I am a member of the 
 Clichy Club. As it happens, any circumstance that puts me 
 in correspondence with the princes would persuade me to quit 
 the cause of a Republic which is tottering to its fall. General 
 Bonaparte is far too clever not to perceive that he cannot 
 possibly be at once in Germany and Italy and here where the 
 Revolution is on the wane. He arranged the i8th Brumaire 
 because, no doubt, he wished to obtain the best possible terms 
 from the Bourbons, in treating with them as to France ; for 
 he is a very clever fellow, and has no lack of capacity. But 
 politicians ought to get ahead of him on the road on which 
 he has entered. As to betraying France, we who are superior 
 to any scruples on that score, can leave them to fools. I am 
 fully empowered I do not conceal it from you either to 
 open negotiations with the Chouan chiefs or to extirpate 
 them ; for my patron Fouche is a deep fellow enough ; he has 
 always played a double game. During the Terror he was at 
 once for Robespierre and for Danton " 
 
 "Whom you forsook like a coward ! " she said. 
 
 "Rubbish," replied Corentin ; "he is dead, forget him. 
 Come, speak your mind frankly ; I have set the example. 
 The chief of demi-brigade is shrewder than he looks, and if 
 you wish to elude the watch he keeps, I might be useful to 
 you. So long as you stay here, beneath his eye, you are at 
 the mercy of his police. You see how quickly he learned that 
 the Chouan was with you ! How could his military sagacity 
 fail to make it plain to him that your least movements would
 
 298 THE CHOUANS. 
 
 keep him informed as to the whereabouts of the Marquis, if 
 you are loved by Montauran? " 
 
 Mile, de Verneuil had never heard such gently affectionate 
 tones before. Corentin seemed to be absolutely sincere, and 
 to put full trust in her. The poor girl's heart so readily re- 
 ceived generous impressions, that she was about to intrust her 
 secret to the serpent who had wound his coils about her. She 
 bethought herself, however, that she had no proof whatever 
 that this crafty talk was genuine, and so she felt no hesitation 
 about deceiving the man who was watching her. 
 
 "Well," she answered, ''you have guessed my secret, 
 Corentin. Yes, I love the Marquis ; but I am not loved by 
 him, or at least, I fear not ; so that the rendezvous he has 
 made seems to me to hide some trap." 
 
 " But you told us yesterday that he had come with you as 
 far as Fougeres," Corentin replied. "If he had intended 
 violence, you would not be here." 
 
 "Your heart is withered, Corentin. You can base cun- 
 ningly contrived schemes on the occurrences of ordinary life, 
 but you cannot reckon with the course of passion. Perhaps 
 that is the cause of the aversion that you always inspire in me. 
 But as you are so clear-sighted, try to understand how it is 
 that a man from whom the day before yesterday I parted in 
 anger is waiting eagerly for me to-day on the Mayenne road, 
 at a house in Florigny, towards the end of the day 
 
 At this confession, which seemed to have escaped from her 
 in a moment of excitement natural enough in a nature so pas- 
 sionate and outspoken, Corentin reddened, for he was still 
 young ; but furtively he gave her one of those keen glances 
 that try to explore the soul. Mile, de Verneuil's feigned rev- 
 elation of self had been made so skilfully that the spy was de- 
 ceived. He made answer with a semblance of good nature, 
 "Would you like me to follow you at a distance? I would 
 take soldiers in plain clothes with me, and we should be at 
 your orders."
 
 A DAY WITHOUT A MORROW. 299 
 
 "I agree to it," said she, "but promise me, on your 
 honor Oh, no ! for I put no faith in that ; on your salva- 
 tion but you do not believe in God ; on your soul but per- 
 haps you have no soul. What guarantee can you give me of 
 your fidelity ? And yet I am trusting in you, notwithstand- 
 ing, and I am putting into your hands more than my life, or 
 my love, or my revenge ! " 
 
 The faint smile that appeared over Corentin's sallow features 
 showed Mile, de Verneuil the danger that she had just escaped. 
 The agent of police, whose nostrils seemed to contract rather 
 than to expand, took his victim's hand and kissed it with 
 every outward sign of deep respect, and took leave of her 
 with a not ungraceful bow. 
 
 Three hours later, Mile, de Verneuil, who stood in fear of 
 Corentin's return, stole out of St. Leonard's gate and took 
 the narrow path down the Nid-aux-Crocs, which led into the 
 Nancon valley. She thought herself safe as she went un- 
 noticed, through the labyrinth of tracks which led to Galope- 
 Chopine's cabin, whither she betook herself with a light heart, 
 for the hope of happiness led her on, as well as a strong wish 
 to save her lover from the dangers that threatened him. 
 
 Corentin, meanwhile, went in quest of the commandant. 
 He had some difficulty in recognizing Hulot when he came 
 upon him in a little square, where the commandant was deep 
 in military preparations. Indeed, the brave veteran had made 
 a sacrifice of which the merit can hardly be estimated. His 
 queue had been cut off, he had shaved his moustache, and 
 there was a trace of powder about his hair which was clipped 
 as short as a priest's. He wore great iron-bound shoes, and 
 had exchanged his old blue uniform and his sword for goat- 
 skins, a belt adorned with pistols, and a heavy carbine. Thus 
 accoutred he was reviewing two hundred of the townsmen of 
 Fougeres, whose costumes might have deceived the eyes of 
 the most expert Chouan. The martial fervor of the little 
 town and of the native Breton character was very evident.
 
 300 THE C HO VANS. 
 
 There was no novelty about the spectacle. Here and there a 
 mother or sister carried to a son or brother a gourd of brandy 
 or pistols that had been forgotten. A number of old men 
 were investigating the quality and quantity of the cartridges 
 supplied to the National Guards thus metamorphosed into 
 Counter-Chouans, whose high spirits seemed more in accord- 
 ance with a hunting party than with a dangerous enterprise. 
 The skirmishes of Chouannerie, wherein Breton townsmen 
 fought with Breton peasants, appeared, in their eyes, to be a 
 substitute for the tournaments of chivalry. Possibly this 
 fervid patriotism had its source in certain grants of national 
 property ; but the benefits of the Revolution (which were 
 better appreciated in the towns), as well as party spirit and a 
 characteristic and innate love of fighting, all counted for 
 something in bringing about their enthusiasm. 
 
 Hulot went through the ranks in admiration, making inqui- 
 ries of Gudin, to whom he had transferred the friendship he 
 had formerly entertained for Merle and Gerard. A crowd 
 of townspeople, examining the preparations for their expe- 
 dition, compared the appearance of their undisciplined 
 fellow-countrymen with that of a battalion of Hulot's own 
 demi-brigade. 
 
 Silent and motionless, the Blues stood drawn up in line, 
 under the command of their officers, awaiting the orders of 
 the commandant, whom the eyes of every soldier followed 
 about from group to group. As Corentin approached the 
 chief of demi-brigade, he could not repress a smile at the 
 change that had been wrought in Hulot's face. He looked 
 like a portrait which no longer bears any likeness to the 
 original. 
 
 " What is the news now? " Corentin asked him. 
 
 " Come and fire a shot along with us, and you will know," 
 the commandant replied. 
 
 "Oh ! I do not belong to Fougeres," answered Corentin. 
 
 " That is easy to see, citizen," said Gudin.
 
 A DAY WITHOUT A MORROW. 301 
 
 A mocking laugh broke out here and there among the 
 groups of bystanders. 
 
 "Do you imagine," retorted Corentin, "that France can 
 only be served with the bayonet? " He turned his back on 
 the scoffers and went up to one of the women to inquire the 
 purpose and the destination of the expedition. 
 
 " Alas ! good sir, the Chouans are even now at Florigny ! 
 They say that they are more than three thousand strong, and 
 that they are marching on Fougeres." 
 
 " Florigny ! " cried Corentin, turning pale. 
 
 "Then her rendezvous is not there! Are they really at 
 Florigny on the road to Mayenne? " he asked. 
 
 "There is only one Florigny," the woman answered, and, 
 as she spoke, she indicated the road that was cut short by the 
 summit of La Pelerine. 
 
 " Are you looking for the Marquis de Montauran ? " Cor- 
 entin asked the commandant. 
 
 " Rather ! " Hulot answered shortly. 
 
 " Then he is not at Florigny," Corentin resumed. " Bring 
 your own battalion and the National Guard to bear on that 
 point, but keep a few of your Counter-Chouans with you and 
 wait for me." 
 
 " He is too cunning to be mad," the commandant exclaimed, 
 as he watched Corentin set off with hasty strides. " He is 
 the very king of spies ! " 
 
 Hulot gave his battalion a signal to depart. The Republi- 
 can soldiers marched silently and without beat of drum through 
 the narrow suburb that lies on the way to the Mayenne road, 
 forming a long streak of blue and red among the houses and 
 trees. The disguised National Guards followed them, but 
 Hulot stayed behind in the little square, with Gudin and a 
 score of the smartest of the young men of the town. He 
 was waiting for Corentin, whose enigmatical air had roused his 
 curiosity. Francine herself told Corentin that Mile, de Ver- 
 neuil had gone out, and the keen-witted spy's surmise became
 
 302 THE CHOUANS. 
 
 a certainty. He started out at once in quest of any light that 
 he could obtain as to this abrupt departure, which with good 
 reason seemed suspicious to him. Corentin learned from the 
 soldiers in the guard-house at St. Leonard's gate that the fair 
 stranger had gone down the path on the side of the Nid-aux- 
 Crocs ; he hurried to the Promenade, and unluckily reached 
 it just in time to watch all Marie's slightest movements from 
 his post of observation. Though she had dressed herself in a 
 hood and gown of green, so as to be less conspicuous, the quick 
 uneven movements of her almost frenzied progress among the 
 hedges, now leafless and white with hoar-frost, readily betrayed 
 the direction in which she was going. 
 
 " Ah !" he cried, " you should by rights be on the way to 
 Florigny, and you are going down the dale of Gibarry ! I 
 am a fool after all. She has tricked me. Patience, though, 
 I can light my lamp in the daytime quite as well as at night." 
 
 Corentin, who had all but detected the spot where the two 
 lovers were to meet, hurried back into the square just as 
 Hulot was leaving it to rejoin his troops. 
 
 " Halt, general ! " he shouted, and the commandant came 
 back. In a brief space Corentin put the soldier in possession 
 of the facts that seemed to be visible threads in a web as yet 
 concealed from them. Hulot, struck with the diplomatist's 
 astuteness, seized him by the arm. 
 
 "Mille tonnerres ! you are right, citizen Pry ! The bandits 
 down there are making a feint ! The two flying columns that 
 I sent out to reconnoitre the neighborhood which lies between 
 the road to Antrain and the road to Vitre have not yet come 
 back. So we shall, no doubt, obtain reinforcements in the 
 country which will come in handy, for the Gars is not such a 
 fool as to venture out without his blessed screech-owls. 
 Gudin," he went on, addressing the young Fougerais, "hurry 
 off", and let Captain Lebrun know that he can do without me 
 at Florigny; tell him to give the brigands there a dressing- 
 down, and come back again in less than no time. You know
 
 WENT OUT OF THE TOWN THROUGH THE GATE o.~ 
 Sr. SULPICE.
 
 A DAY WITHOUT A MORROW. 303 
 
 the short cuts. I shall wait for you here to set out on a hunt 
 for the ci-devant, and to avenge the murders at the Vivetiere. 
 Tonnerre de Dieu ! how he runs ! " he added, as he watched 
 Gudin set off, and vanish as if by magic. How Gerard would 
 have liked that fellow ! " 
 
 When Gudin came back he found the numbers of Hulot's 
 little band increased. A few soldiers had been withdrawn 
 from the guard-houses in the town. The commandant told 
 the young Fougerais to pick out a dozen of his countrymen 
 who were best acquainted with the risky trade of Counter- 
 Chouan, and ordered him to make his way through St. Leon- 
 ard's gate so as to go over the whole length of that side of 
 the hills of St. Sulpice which overlooked the main valley 
 of the Couesnon, the side moreover on which Galope-Chopine's 
 cabin lay. Hulot pot himself at the head of his remaining 
 men, and went out of the town through the gate of St. Sulpice, 
 meaning to climb the hills and to follow the line of their crests, 
 where, according to his calculations, he ought to fall in with 
 Beau- Pied and his men, whom he intended to employ in form- 
 ing a cordon of sentinels who should watch the crags from the 
 suburb of St. Sulpice as far as the Nid-aux-Crocs. 
 
 Corentin, feeling quite certain that he had put the fate of 
 the Chouan chief into the hands of his bitterest foes, promptly 
 betook himself to the Promenade, the better to grasp the 
 whole of Hulot's military dispositions. He was not slow to 
 perceive Gudin's little band, as it issued from the valley of 
 the Nancon, and followed the line of the crags along the side 
 of the Couesnon valley ; while Hulot, breaking cover, stole 
 under the walls of the castle of Fougeres, and climbed the 
 dangerous path that ascends to the summits of the hills of St. 
 Sulpice. The two bodies of men, therefore, appeared in 
 parallel lines. The rich tracery of hoar-frost that decorated 
 every bush and tree had given a white hue to the country side, 
 which made it easy to watch the gray moving lines of the two 
 small bodies of soldiers.
 
 304 THE CHOUANS. 
 
 When Hulot reached the level heights of the crags, he 
 called out all the men in uniform among his troops, and 
 Corentin saw how they were posted, by the orders of the 
 keen-sighted commandant, as a line of patrolling sentinels, 
 with a sufficient distance between each man. The first man 
 of the chain communicated with Gudin, and the last with 
 Hulot, so that there was no bush that could escape the bay- 
 onets of the three moving lines which were to hunt down the 
 Gars, over hill and field. 
 
 " The old war-wolf is crafty ! " cried Corentin as the glit- 
 tering points of the last bayonets disappeared in the furze. 
 " The Gars' goose is cooked ! If Marie had betrayed this 
 accursed Marquis, she and I should have had the strongest of 
 all bonds between us the bond of guilt. But she shall cer- 
 tainly be mine ! " 
 
 The twelve lads from Fougeres, under the command of 
 Gudin, their sub-lieutenant, very soon reached a spot on the 
 other side of the St. Sulpice crags, where they slope by 
 degrees into the dale of Gibarry. Gudin himself left the 
 road, and vaulted lightly over the echalier into the first field 
 of broom that he came across. Six of his fellows went with 
 him, while the other six, in obedience to his orders, took the 
 fields to the right, so that in this way they beat up both sides 
 of the road. Gudin himself hurried to an apple-tree that 
 stood in the midst of the broom. At the sound of the foot- 
 steps of the six Counter-Chotians, whom Gudin led through 
 the forest of bushes, making every effort the while not to dis- 
 turb the rime upon them, Beau-Pied and seven or eight men 
 under his command hid themselves behind some chestnut 
 trees that grew on the summit of the hedge by which the 
 field was surrounded. In spite of the white covering that 
 enveloped the country, and in spite of their well-trained eyes, 
 the lads from Fougeres at first did not notice the others, who 
 had made a sort of rampart of the trees. 
 
 "Hush!" said Beau-Pied, who had raised his head first,
 
 A DAY WITHOUT A MORROW. 305 
 
 "here they are ! The brigands have got ahead of us; but 
 since we have them here at the ends of our guns, don't let us 
 miss them, or, my word for it, we shall not even be fit to be 
 soldiers to the Pope ! " 
 
 Gudin's keen eyes, however, had at last discerned the bar- 
 rels of the muskets that were pointed at his little party. 
 Eight loud voices immediately shouted, " Who goes there ! " 
 a bitter gibe that was followed up at once by eight shots. The 
 bullets whistled about the Counter-Chouans ; one was hit in 
 the arm, and another dropped. Five of the party who 
 remained unhurt retorted with a volley, as they answered, 
 "Friends!" and marched rapidly upon their supposed 
 enemies, so as to come upon them before they could reload. 
 
 " We did not know that there was so much truth in what 
 we said," the young sub-lieutenant exclaimed, as he recognized 
 the uniforms and shabby hats of his demi-brigade. "We 
 have acted in true Breton fashion, fighting first, and asking 
 for explanations afterwards." 
 
 The eight soldiers stood dumbfounded at the sight of 
 Gudin. " Plague take it, sir, who the devil could help taking 
 you for the brigands in those goatskins of yours?" cried 
 Beau-Pied dolefully. 
 
 "It is unlucky, and none of us are to blame, for you were 
 not told beforehand that our Counter-Chouans were going to 
 make a sortie. But what are you about ? " Gudin asked him. 
 
 " We are looking out for a dozen Chouans, sir, who are 
 amusing themselves by breaking our backs. We have been 
 running for it like poisoned rats, but our legs are stiff with 
 jumping over these echaliers and hedges (heaven confound 
 them!), so we were taking a rest. I think by now the 
 brigands must be somewhere near the shanty you see over 
 there with the smoke rising from it." 
 
 " Good ! " cried Gudin. " As for you," he said to Beau- 
 Pied and his eight men, " fall back across the fields on the 
 crags of St. Sulpice, and support the line of sentinels that the 
 20
 
 306 THE CHOUANS. 
 
 commandant has posted there. It will not do for you to stay 
 with us, as you are in uniform. Mille cartouches! We want 
 to put an end to the dogs ; the Gars is among them ! Your 
 comrades will tell you more about it than I can. File to the 
 left, and do not fire on half-a-dozen of our goatskins, whom 
 you may come across. You can tell our Chouans by their 
 cravats; they are wound round their necks without a knot." 
 
 Gudin left the two wounded men under the apple-tree, and 
 went toward Galope-Chopine's house, which Beau-Pied had 
 pointed out to him, guided by the smoke that rose from it. 
 While the young officer had been put on the track of the 
 Chouans by a chance fray common enough in this war, but 
 which might have been much more serious, the little detach- 
 ment under Hulot's command had reached a point in his line 
 of operations parallel with that reached by Gudin on the 
 other side. The veteran, at the head of his Counter-Chouans, 
 stole noiselessly along the hedges with all the eagerness of a 
 young man. He sprang over the echaliers lightly enough, 
 even now ; his tawny eyes wandered over the heights, and he 
 turned his ear like a hunter towards the slightest sound. In 
 the third field which he entered he saw a woman of thirty, or 
 thereabouts, engaged in hoeing. She was hard at work, and 
 bending over her toil ; while a little boy, about seven or 
 eight years old, armed with a bill-hook, was shaking the hoar- 
 frost from a few furze-bushes that had sprung up here and 
 there, before cutting them down, and laying them in heaps. 
 The little urchin and his mother raised their heads at the 
 sound that Hulot made, as he came down heavily on the near 
 side of the echalier. Hulot readily took the young woman 
 for an old one. Wrinkles had come before their time to fur- 
 row the skin of the Breton woman's throat and brow ; and 
 she was so oddly dressed, in a well-worn goatskin, that if a 
 skirt of dirty yellow canvas had not denoted her sex, Hulot 
 would not have known whether the peasant was a man or a 
 woman, for the long locks of her black hair were hidden
 
 A DAY WITHOUT A MORROW. 307 
 
 away under a red woolen cap. The little urchin's rags 
 scarcely covered him, and his skin showed through them. 
 
 "Halloo! old woman," said Hulot in a low voice, as he 
 came up to her. " Where is the Gars ? " 
 
 The twenty Counter-Chouans who followed him leaped the 
 boundary into the field at that moment. 
 
 " Oh ! to go to the Gars, you must go back to the place you 
 have come from," the woman replied, after she had given a 
 suspicious glance round at the men. 
 
 "Did I ask you the way to the suburb of the Gars at 
 Fougeres, old scarecrow ?" Hulot answered roughly. "St. 
 Anne of Auray ! Have you seen the Gars go by ? " 
 
 " I do not know what you mean," the woman answered, 
 stooping to go on with her work. 
 
 " Do you want the Blues on our track to swallow us up, 
 accursed garce ?" shouted Hulot. 
 
 The woman raised her head at the words, and eyed the 
 Chouans with fresh suspicion as she answered, " How can the 
 Blues be at your heels? I have just seen seven or eight of 
 them going back to Fougeres along the road below there." 
 
 " Now, would not any one think that she had a mind to bite 
 us?" asked Hulot. "There! look there, old nanny-goat!" 
 The commandant pointed to three or four of his own sentries, 
 some fifty paces behind, whose hats, uniforms, and guns were 
 easily recognizable. 
 
 " Do jjou want the men whom Marche-a-Terre is sending to 
 help the Gars to have their throats cut? The Fougeres 
 people want to catch them ! " he said angrily. 
 
 "Ah, I beg your pardon," the woman answered, "but it is 
 so easy to make a mistake ! What parish do you come 
 from? " she asked. 
 
 "From Saint George," cried two or three of the Fougeres 
 men in Bas-Breton, "and we are perishing of hunger." 
 
 "Very well, stop a moment," said the woman. " Do you 
 see that smoke yonder? My house is there. If you follow
 
 308 THE CHOUANS. 
 
 the track to the right, you will come out up above it. Perhaps 
 you may meet my husband on the way. Galope-Chopine has 
 to keep a lookout, so as to warn the Gars ; for he has come to 
 our house to-day, you know," she added proudly. 
 
 "Thanks, good woman," Hulot answered. " Forward ! " 
 he added, speaking to his men. " Tonnerre de Dieu ! We 
 have him now ! " 
 
 At these words the detachment followed the commandant 
 at a run, down the footpath that had been pointed out to them. 
 But when Galope-Chopine's wife heard the oath, which so 
 little beseemed a Catholic, uttered by the supposed Chouan, 
 she turned pale. She looked at the gaiters and goatskins of 
 the lads from Fougeres, sat herself down on the ground, and 
 held her child in a tight embrace, as she said 
 
 " May the Holy Virgin of Auray and the blessed St. Labre 
 have mercy upon us ! I do not believe that those are our 
 people ; their shoes have no nails to them. Run along the 
 lower road and tell your father about it. His head is at stake," 
 she said to the little boy, who vanished among the broom and 
 furze like a fawn. 
 
 Mile, de Verneuil, however, had met no one belonging to 
 either side upon her way; though Blues and Chouans were 
 hunting each other in the labyrinth of fields that lay round 
 Galope-Chopine's cabin. When she came in sight of the 
 column of bluish smoke which rose from the half-ruined 
 chimney of the wretched dwelling, she felt her heart beating 
 so violently that the quick vibrating throbs seemed to surge 
 into her throat. She stopped, laid her hand on the branch 
 of a tree to steady herself, and gazed at the smoke which was 
 to serve for a beacon alike to the friends and foes of the young 
 chief. Never before had she felt such overwhelming emotion. 
 
 " Ah ! I love him too much ! " she said to herself in a kind 
 of despair; "perhaps to-day I shall have command of myself 
 no longer." 
 
 She suddenly crossed the space that lay between her and
 
 A DAY WITHOUT A MORROW. 309 
 
 the hovel, and came into the yard, whose muddy surface was 
 now hard frozen. The great dog flew barking at her, but at 
 a word from Galope-Chopine he ceased and wagged his tail. 
 As she entered the hut Mile, de Verneuil gave a comprehen- 
 sive glance round it. The Marquis was not there. Marie 
 breathed more freely. She was glad to see that the Chouan 
 had made an effort to restore some amount of cleanliness to 
 the one dirty room of his den. Galope-Chopine seized his 
 duck-gun, took leave of his visitor without uttering a word, 
 and went out with his dog. Marie went after him as far as 
 the threshold, and watched him turn to the right, when out- 
 side his cabin, into a lane, whose entrance was barred by a 
 decayed trunk of a tree that was almost dropping to pieces. 
 From the doorway she could see field beyond field. The bars 
 across their openings made a sort of vista of gateways, for the 
 bareness of the trees and hedges enabled the eye to see the 
 smallest details in the landscape. 
 
 A- soon as Galope-Chopine's great hat was quite out of 
 sight, Mile, de Verneuil went out and turned to the left to 
 gain a view of the church at Fougeres ; but the shed hid it 
 from her completely. Then she turned her gaze upon the 
 Couesnon valley, which lay beneath her eyes like a great sheet 
 of muslin ; its whiteness made the lowering sky, with its gray 
 snow clouds, seem heavier yet. It was one of those days 
 when nature seems to be dumb, and every sound is absorbed 
 by the air ; so that although the Blues and Counter-Chouans 
 were traversing the country in three lines, in the form of a 
 triangle that diminished as they came nearer and nearer to 
 the cabin, the silence was so deep that Mile, de Verneuil felt 
 a trouble caused by her surroundings, and a kind of physical 
 sadness was added to her mental anguish. There was calamity 
 in the air. At last, in a spot where the vista of echalicrs was 
 screened off by a few trees, she saw a young man leaping over 
 the bars like a squirrel, and running with wonderful speed. 
 
 " It is he ! " she said to herself.
 
 310 THE CHOVANS. 
 
 The Gars was dressed like any other Chouan. His blun- 
 derbuss was slung behind him over his goatskin, and but for 
 his grace of movement he would have been unrecognizable. 
 Marie fled into the cabin, acting upon an instinctive impulse 
 as little explainable as fear; but almost immediately the 
 young chief stood at a distance of two paces from her, before 
 the hearth, where a clear and glowing fire was crackling. 
 Neither of them could find a voice ; each of them feared to 
 move or to look at the other. One hope united their thoughts ; 
 one doubt held them apart it was agony and it was rap- 
 ture. 
 
 "Sir," said Mile, de Verneuil at last, in an unsteady voice, 
 " it is only a regard for your safety that has brought me 
 hither." 
 
 " For my safety ? " he asked, with bitterness in his tones. 
 
 "Yes," she replied. "So long as I remain in Fougeres 
 your life is imperiled. My love for you is too great to pre- 
 vent me from going away to-night. You must not seek for 
 me there again." 
 
 "You are going away, dear angel? Then I shall follow 
 you." 
 
 "You will follow me? How can you think of it? And 
 how about the Blues? " 
 
 "Ah! Marie, my beloved, what connection is there be- 
 tween the Blues and our love? " 
 
 " But it seems to me that it is difficult for you to remain in 
 France beside me, and still more difficult for you to leave it 
 with me." 
 
 " Is there anything impossible for a lover who is in earn- 
 est?" 
 
 " Ah ! yes. I believe that everything is possible. Have I 
 not had the courage to give you up for your own sake ? " 
 
 " What ! you give yourself to a horrible being whom you 
 did not love, and you will not make the happiness of a man 
 who worships you? A man whose life you would fill, who
 
 A DAY WITHOUT A MORROW. 311 
 
 would swear to be yours forever, and yours only ? Listen to 
 me, Marie do you love me ? ' ' 
 
 "Yes," she said. 
 
 "Then be mine." 
 
 " Have you forgotten that I resumed my vile part of court- 
 esan, and that it is you who must be mine? If I am deter- 
 mined to fly from you, it is in order that I may not draw down 
 upon your head the scorn that may be poured on mine. Per- 
 haps, but for that fear " 
 
 ' ' But if / fear nothing ? ' ' 
 
 "Who will convince me of it? lam distrustful. Who, 
 in my position, would not be distrustful? If the love that 
 each of us inspires in the other cannot last, let it at least be 
 absolute, so that we may joyfully sustain the burden of the 
 world's injustice. What have you done for my sake? You 
 desire me. Do you think that that raises you very much 
 above the level of others who have hitherto seen me ? Have 
 you risked your Chouans for an hour's happiness, taking no 
 more thought for them than I once took for the Blues that 
 were murdered when everything was lost for me? And what 
 if I were to bid you renounce your ideas, your hopes, your 
 king, of whom I am jealous, and who perhaps will deride you 
 when you die for him, while I could die for you as a sacred 
 duty. How if I required you to make your submission to the 
 
 First Consul, so that you might follow me to Paris ? How 
 
 if I ordained that we should go to America, that we might 
 live far away from the world where all is vanity, so that I 
 might know whether you really love me for my own sake, as 
 I love you at this moment ? To sum it all up in a word if 
 I set myself to drag you down to my level instead of raising 
 myself to yours, what would you do? " 
 
 " Hush, Marie ! do not slander yourself. Poor child, I 
 have read your thoughts. If my first desire became passion, 
 so my passion is now turned into love. Dear soul of my soul, 
 you are as noble as your name, your soul is as lofty as you
 
 312 THE CHOUANS. 
 
 are beautiful; I know it now. My name is noble enough, 
 and I feel that I myself am great enough to compel the world 
 to accept you. Is this because I feel a presentiment of un- 
 dreamed of happiness without an end with you ? Is it because 
 I feel that I recognize in you the priceless qualities of soul 
 that constrain us to love one woman forever? I do not know 
 why it is, but my love is infinite, and I feel that I can no 
 longer live without you that my life would be loathsome to 
 me if you were not always near me." 
 
 " What do you mean by ' near you ? ' ' 
 
 " Oh, Marie, you will not understand your Alphonse." 
 
 "Ah ! Do you think to honor me greatly by offering me 
 your name and your hand?" she asked in seeming disdain, 
 fixing her steady eyes upon the Marquis, as if to detect his 
 every thought. "And do you know whether you will love 
 me in six months' time ? And what would be my outlook 
 then ? No, no ; a mistress is the only woman who can be 
 certain of the reality of the feeling that a man shows for her. 
 Duty, and legal sanctions, and the world, and the common 
 interest of children are but sorry aids to her power ; for if it 
 is lasting, her pride in it and her happiness will enable her to 
 endure the heaviest troubles the world can give. To be your 
 wife, and incur the risk of one day being burdensome to you? 
 Rather than to face that fear, I choose a transient love, but a 
 love that is true while it lasts, though it should lead to death 
 and misery in the end. Yes, better than any other, could I 
 be a virtuous mother and a devoted wife ; but if such sentiments 
 are to dwell for long in a woman's heart a man must not 
 marry her in a fit of passion. Besides this, do I myself know 
 that I shall care for you to-morrow? No; I will not bring 
 trouble upon you. I am about to leave Brittany," she said, 
 as she noticed that he wavered. " I am going back to Paris, 
 and you must not go thither in search of me " 
 
 "Well, then, if on the morning of the day after to-morrow 
 you see smoke rising from the crags of St. Sulpice, I shall be
 
 A DAY WITHOUT A MORROW. 313 
 
 with you in the evening. I will be your lover, your husband, 
 whatever you would have me be. I shall have dared all 
 things." 
 
 "Oh ! Alphonse," she cried in her intoxication, "do you 
 love me so well that you will risk your life for me, in this 
 way, before you make it mine?" 
 
 He made no answer ; he looked at her, and she lowered her 
 eyes ; but from her eager face, he knew that her fevered frenzy 
 equalled his own, and he held out his arms to her. Carried 
 away by this madness, Marie was about to sink back languidly 
 upon Montauran's breast, determined that the surrender of 
 herself should be an error that should bring her the greatest 
 happiness, since in this way she risked her whole future, which 
 would have been more certain if she had issued victorious 
 from this final ordeal. But as she laid her head on her lover's 
 shoulder, a faint sound echoed outside the house. She tore 
 herself away from him as if she had been suddenly aroused from 
 sleep, and sprang out of the hovel. This enabled her to 
 recover her self-possession to some extent, and to think over 
 her situation. 
 
 " He would have taken me, and perhaps have laughed at 
 me afterwards," she said to herself. "Ah ! if I could bring 
 myself to believe that, I would kill him. Ah ! not just yet ! " 
 she added, as she caught sight of Beau-Pied, and made a sign, 
 which the soldier understood with wonderful quickness. 
 
 The poor fellow turned on his heel at once and made as 
 though he had seen nothing. Mile, de Verneuil went sud- 
 denly back into the hut, with the first finger of her right hand 
 laid upon her lips in a way that recommended silence to the 1 
 young chief. , 
 
 " They are there ! " she said, and her voice was low with 
 horror. 
 
 " Who is there ?" 
 
 "The Blues." 
 
 " Ah ! I will not die without "
 
 314 THE CHOUANS. 
 
 "Yes, take it." 
 
 He clasped her, as she stood there cold and poweness, and 
 pressed upon her lips a kiss full of rapture and of ghastly fear, 
 for it might be at once the first kiss and the last. Then 
 together they stood upon the threshold of the door, with 
 their heads in such a position that they could watch every- 
 thing without being seen. The Marquis saw Gudin at the 
 head of a dozen men holding the foot of the Couesnon valley ; 
 then he turned and looked along the vista of echaliers ; seven 
 soldiers were on guard over the great rotten tree trunk. He 
 climbed upon the cask of cider and broke a hole through the 
 shingle roof, so as to spring out on to the knoll behind the 
 house, but he quickly drew back his head through the gap he 
 had just made, for Hulot, on the summit, had cut off the way 
 to Fougeres. He looked for a moment at Marie, who uttered 
 a despairing cry ; for she heard the tramp of the three detach- 
 ments who had met at last about the house. 
 
 " Go out first," he said ; "you will save my life." 
 
 For her those words were sublime. Full of happiness, she 
 went and stood in the doorway, while the Marquis cocked his 
 blunderbuss. The Gars calculated the distance between the 
 cabin door and the echalier, suddenly confronted the seven 
 Blues, riddled the group with shot, and made his way through 
 their midst. All three detachments flung themselves upon 
 the echalier that the chief had just cleared, only to see him 
 running across the field with incredible swiftness. 
 
 " Fire ! fire ! in the devil's name ! You are no French- 
 men ! Fire, you wetches ! ' ' thundered Hulot. 
 
 As he called these words from the top of the knoll, his own 
 men and Gudin's troop fired a volley point blank, which, 
 luckily, was badly aimed. The Marquis had already reached 
 the echalier at the other end of the nearest field, and was just 
 entering the next, when he was all but overtaken by Gudin, 
 who had flung himself after him in hot pursuit. When the 
 Gars heard the footsteps of his formidable antagonist not
 
 A DAY WITHOUT A MORROW. 315 
 
 many yards behind him, he redoubled his speed ; but in spite 
 of this, both Gudin and the Marquis reached the third 
 echalier almost at the same time. Montauran adroitly flung 
 his blunderbuss at Gudin's head, and struck the Counter- 
 Chouan a blow that made him slacken his pace. It is 
 impossible to describe Marie's agony of mind, and the 
 intense interest with which Hulot and his troops watched this 
 spectacle, each one unconsciously imitating the gestures of the 
 two runners in a dead silence. The Gars and Gudin both 
 reached the screen of copse, now white with hoarfrost, when 
 the officer suddenly fell back and disappeared behind an apple 
 tree. Some score of Chouans, who had not dared to fire for 
 fear of killing their leader, now appeared, and riddled the 
 tree with balls. All Hulot's little band set out at a run to 
 rescue Gudin, who, being without weapons, fled towards them 
 from one apple tree to another, choosing the moments when 
 the " Chasseurs du Roi " were reloading, for his flight. He was 
 not long in jeopardy. The Counter-Chouans joined the 
 Blues; and, with Hulot at their head, they came to the young 
 officer's assistance just at the place where the Marquis had 
 flung away his blunderbuss. 
 
 As they came up, Gudin caught a glimpse of his foe, who 
 was sitting exhausted beneath one of the trees in the little 
 copse ; and leaving his comrades to shoot from behind their 
 cover at the Chouans who were entrenched behind a hedge 
 along the side of the field, he made a circuit round them and 
 went in the direction of the Marquis with the eagerness of a 
 beast of prey. When the " Chasseurs du Roi " saw his manceu- 
 vre they uttered fearful yells to warn their chief of his danger ; 
 then, after firing a round at the Counter-Chouans, with 
 poacher's luck, they tried to hold their own against them ; but 
 the Counter-Chouans boldly climbed the bank which served 
 their enemies as a rampart, and took a murderous revenge. 
 Upon this the Chouans made for the road that ran beside the 
 enclosure in which the skirmish had taken place, and made
 
 316 THE CHOUANS. 
 
 themselves masters of the high ground, abandoned by a 
 blunder of Hulot's. Before the Blues knew where they were, 
 the Chouans had entrenched themselves among the gaps in the 
 crests of the rocks; and thus sheltered, they could pick off 
 Hulot's men in safety, should the latter show any disposition 
 to follow them thither, and thus prolong the fight. 
 
 Whilst Hulot and a few of his soldiers were going slowly 
 towards the copse in search of Gudin, the men of Fougeres 
 stayed behind to strip the dead, and dispatch the living 
 Chouans, for no prisoners were taken on either side in this 
 terrible war. The Marquis being in safety, both Chouans and 
 Blues recognized the strength of their respective positions, and 
 the futility of continuing the struggle, so that neither party 
 now thought of anything but of beating a retreat. 
 
 "If I lose this young man," Hulot exclaimed, as he care- 
 fully scanned the copse, " I will never make another friend." 
 
 " Oho ! " said one of the lads from Fougeres, " there's a 
 bird here with yellow feathers," and he held up for his fellow- 
 countrymen's inspection a purse full of gold pieces that he 
 had just found in the pocket of a stout man in black clothes. 
 
 "But what have we here?" asked another, as he drew a 
 breviary from the dead man's overcoat. "Here be holy 
 goods; this is a priest!" he exclaimed, as he flung the 
 breviary down. 
 
 "The robber! He will make bankrupts of us ! " said a 
 third, who had only found two crowns of six francs each in 
 the pockets of the Chouan that he was stripping. 
 
 " Yes, but he has a famous pair of shoes," said a soldier, 
 who made as though he would help himself to them. 
 
 "You shall have them if they fall to your share," a 
 Fougerais answered, as he dragged them off the feet of the 
 dead Chouan, and flung them down on a pile of goods 
 already heaped together. 
 
 A fourth Counter-Chouan took charge of the money, so as 
 to divide it when the soldiers belonging to the party should
 
 A DAY WITHOUT A MORROW. 317 
 
 return. Hulot came back with the young officer, whose last 
 attempt to come up with the Gars had been as useless as it was 
 dangerous, and found a score of his own men and some thirty 
 Counter-Chouans standing round eleven of their dead foes, 
 whose bodies had been flung into a furrow below the hedge. 
 
 "Soldiers!" Hulot shouted sternly; "I forbid you to 
 take any part of those rags. Fall in, and look sharp about 
 it!" 
 
 "It is all very well about the money, commandant," said 
 one of the men, exhibiting for Hulot's benefit a pair of shoes 
 out of which liis five bare toes were protruding ; " but those 
 shoes would fit me like a glove," he went on, pointing the 
 butt end of his gun at the pair of iron-bound shoes before 
 him. 
 
 " So you want a pair of English shoes on your feet ! " was 
 Hulot's reply. 
 
 "But ever since the war. began we have always shared the 
 booty " began one of the Fougerais in a respectful voice. 
 Hulot broke in upon him roughly with 
 
 "You fellows can follow your customs; I make no ob- 
 jection. 
 
 " Wait a bit, Gudin, there is a purse here, and it is not so 
 badly off for louis ; you have been at some trouble, so your 
 chief will not object to your taking it," said one of his old 
 comrades, addressing the officer. 
 
 Hulot, in annoyance, looked at Gudin, and saw him turn 
 pale. 
 
 " It is my uncle's purse ! " the young fellow exclaimed. 
 Exhausted and weary as he was, he went a step or two towards 
 the heap of bodies, and the first that met his eyes happened 
 to be that of his own uncle. He had scarcely caught sight 
 of the florid face, now furrowed with bluish lines, of the gun- 
 shot wound and the stiffened arms, when a smothered cry 
 broke from him, and he said, " Let us march, commandant ! " 
 
 The Blues set off, Hulot supporting his young friend, who
 
 318 THE CHOUANS. 
 
 leaned upon his arm. " Tonnerre de Dieu/" said the old 
 soldier. " Never mind ! " 
 
 "But he is dead!" Gudin replied; "he is dead! He 
 was the only relation I had left, and though he cursed me, he 
 was fond of me. If the King had come back, the whole 
 country would have wanted my head, but the old fellow's 
 cassock would have screened me." 
 
 "What a fool!" remarked the National Guards, who 
 stayed behind to divide the booty; "the old boy was well 
 off, and as things fell out, he had not time to make a will to 
 disinherit his nephew." 
 
 When the plunder had been divided, the Counter-Chouans 
 started after the little battalion of Blues, and followed after 
 them at a distance. 
 
 As the day wore away, there was a dreadful sense of un- 
 easiness in Galope-Chopine's hovel, where life had hitherto 
 been so simple and so free from anxiety. Barbette and her 
 little lad went home at the -hour when the family usually took 
 their evening meal ; the one bore a heavy burden of furze, 
 and the other a bundle of fodder for the cattle. Mother and 
 son entered the hut, and looked round in vain for Galope- 
 Chopine. Never had their wretched room looked so large to 
 them, nor seemed so empty. The fireless hearth, the darkness 
 and the stillness all foreboded calamity of some kind. 
 
 At nightfall Barbette hastened to light a bright fire and two 
 oribus for so they call their resin candles in the country that 
 lies between the shores of Armorica and the district of the 
 Upper Loire, and the word is in use even on this side of 
 Amboise in the Vendomois. 
 
 Barbette set about her preparations with the deliberation 
 that characterizes all actions performed under the influence 
 of deep feeling. She listened to the slightest sound ; the 
 wailing of the gusts of wind often deceived her, and brought 
 her to the door of her wretched hovel, only that she might 
 go sadly back again. She rinsed a couple of pitchers, filled
 
 A DAY WITHOUT A MORROW. 319 
 
 them with cider, and set them on the long table of walnut 
 wood. Again and again she looked at her little boy, who was 
 watching the baking of the buckwheat cakes, but she could 
 not bring herself to speak a word to him. Once the little 
 lad fixed his eyes upon the nails in the wall from which his 
 father was wont to hang his duck gun, and Barbette shuddered 
 when she noticed, as he had also noticed, that the space was 
 vacant. The silence was unbroken save for the lowing of the 
 cows, and the sound at regular intervals of the drippings from 
 the cider barrel. The poor woman sighed as she poured out 
 into three brown earthenware porringers a sort of soup, made 
 of milk, cakes cut into dice, and cooked chestnuts. 
 
 "They fought in the field that belongs to La Beraudidre," 
 said the little boy. 
 
 " Go and have a look there," his mother answered. 
 
 The little fellow ran off, and made out the faces of the heap 
 of dead by the moonlight ; his father was not among them, 
 and he came back whistling joyfully, for he had picked up a 
 few coins that the victors had overlooked and trampled into 
 the mud. He found his mother busy spinning hemp, seated 
 upon a stool by the fireside. He shook his head at the sight 
 of Barbette, who did not dare to believe in any good news. 
 It was ten o'clock by St. Leonard's Church, and the little 
 fellow went to bed, after lisping his prayer to the Holy Virgin 
 of Auray. At daybreak Barbette, who had not slept all night, 
 gave a cry of joy as she heard a sound in the distance that she 
 recognized; it was Galope-Chopine's step and his heavy- 
 bound shoes, and he himself soon showed his sullen counte- 
 nance. 
 
 "Thanks to St. Labre, to whom I have promised a fine 
 wax-candle, the Gars is saved ! Do not forget that we now 
 owe three candles to the saint." 
 
 With that Galope-Chopine seized upon a pitcher and gulped 
 down the contents without taking a breath. When his wife 
 had put the soup before him, and had helped him to rid him-
 
 320 THE CHOUANS. 
 
 self of his duck-gun, he seated himself on the bench of walnut 
 wood and said, as he drew near the fire, " How could the 
 Blues and Counter-Chouans have come here? There was a 
 fight going on at Florigny. What devil can have told them 
 that the Gars was in our house ? Nobody knew about it ex- 
 cept us, and the Gars, and that pretty lass of his." 
 
 The woman turned pale. 
 
 " The Counter-Chouans made me believe that they were 
 the gars from Saint Georges," she made answer, trembling, 
 "and I myself told them where the Gars was." 
 
 Now it was Galope-Chopine's turn to grow pale ; he set his 
 porringer down on the edge of the table. 
 
 " I sent our little chap to warn you," the terrified Barbette 
 went on ; " he did not find you." 
 
 The Chouan rose to his feet and dealt his wife such a violent 
 blow, that she fell back half-dead upon the bed. 
 
 " Accursed garce," he said, " you have killed me ! " 
 
 Then terror seized him, and he took his wife in his arms. 
 "Barbette! " he cried, "Barbette ! Holy Virgin, my hand 
 was too heavy ! " 
 
 " Do you think that Marche-a-Terre will get to know about 
 it?" she said, when she opened her eyes again. 
 
 " The Gars has given orders for an inquiry to be made, so 
 as to know where the treachery came from," answered the 
 Chouan. 
 
 " Did he tell Marche-a-Terre ? " 
 
 " Pille-Miche and Marche-a-Terre were at Florigny." 
 
 Barbette breathed more freely. 
 
 " If they touch a single hair of your head," she said, " I 
 will rinse their glasses with vinegar." 
 
 "Ah! I have no appetite now!" Galope-Chopine ex- 
 claimed dejectedly. 
 
 His wife set another full pitcher before him, but he gave no 
 heed to it. Two great tears left their traces on Barbette's 
 cheeks, and moistened the wrinkles on her withered face.
 
 A DAY WITHOUT A MORROW. 321 
 
 " Listen, wife. To-morrow morning you must make a heap 
 of faggots on the crags of St. Sulpice to the right of St. 
 Leonard, and set fire to them. That is the signal agreed 
 upon between the Gars and the old rector of Saint Georges, 
 who will come and say a mass for him." 
 
 " Is he going to Fougeres? " 
 
 " Yes. He is going to see his pretty lass, and on that 
 account I shall have running about to do to-day. I am pretty 
 sure that he means to marry her and to take her away with 
 him, for he told me to hire horses and to have them ready 
 all along the Saint Malo Road." Thereupon Galope-Chopine, 
 being tired out, went to bed for a few hours, and afterwards 
 went about his errands. 
 
 He came in again the next morning, having faithfully 
 carried out the Marquis' instructions ; and when he learned 
 that Marche-a-Terre and Pille-Miche had not put in an appear- 
 ance, he dispelled his wife's fears, so that she set out for the 
 crags of St. Sulpice with an almost easy mind. On the pre- 
 vious evening she had made a pile of faggots, now white with 
 rime, upon the knoll that faced the suburb of St. Leonard. 
 She held her child by the hand, and the little fellow carried 
 some glowing ashes in a broken sabot. 
 
 His wife and son had hardly disappeared behind the shed, 
 when Galope-Chopine heard two men jump over the last of 
 the series of echaliers. By degrees he made out two angular 
 figures, looking like vague shadows in a tolerably thick fog. 
 
 "There are Pille-Miche and Marche-a-Terre," he said 
 within himself, and trembled as the two Chouans showed their 
 dark countenances in the little yard. Beneath their huge 
 battered hats they looked not unlike the foreground figures 
 that engravers put into landscapes. 
 
 "Good-day, Galope-Chopine," said Marche-a-Terre 
 soberly. 
 
 "Good-day, M. Marche-a-Terre," Barbette's husband re- 
 spectfully answered. " Will you come inside and empty a 
 21
 
 322 THE CHOUANS. 
 
 pitcher or two? I have some cold cakes and fresh butter 
 here." 
 
 " That is not to be refused, cousin," said Pille-Miche, and 
 the two Chouans came in. There was nothing to alarm 
 Galope-Chopine in this beginning; he hastened to his great 
 cider butt and filled three pitchers, while Marche-a-Terre 
 and Pille-Miche, seated upon the polished bench on either 
 side of the long table, cut slices of the cakes for themselves, 
 and spread them with the rich yellow butter that exuded little 
 beads of milk under the pressure of the knife. Galope- 
 Chopine set the foaming pitchers full of cider before his vis- 
 itors and the three Chouans fell to ; but from time to time 
 the master of the house cast a sidelong glance at Marche-a- 
 Terre as he eagerly satisfied his thirst. 
 
 "Pass me your snuff-box," Marche-a-Terre remarked to 
 Pille-Miche. 
 
 The Breton gave it a few vigorous shakes, till several 
 pinches lay in the hollow of his hand, then he snuffed the 
 powdered tobacco like a man who wished to fortify himself 
 for serious business. 
 
 "It is cold," Pille-Miche remarked, and rose to shut the 
 upper part of the door. 
 
 The dim foggy daylight now only entered the room through 
 the little window, so that only the table and the two benches 
 were faintly visible, but the red glow of the firelight filled the 
 place. Galope-Chopine had just refilled the pitchers and 
 had set them before his guests ; but they declined to drink, 
 flung their large hats aside, and suddenly assumed a solemn 
 expression. This gesture and the look by which they took 
 counsel of each other sent a shudder through Galope-Chopine, 
 who seemed to read thoughts of bloodshed lurking beneath 
 those red woolen bonnets. 
 
 " Bring us your hatchet," said Marche-a-Terre. 
 
 " But what do you want with it, M. Marche-a-Terre ? " 
 
 " Come, cousin, you know quite well that you are doomed,"
 
 A DAY WITHOUT A MORROW. 323 
 
 said Pille-Miche, putting away the snuff-box that Marche-a- 
 Terre had returned to him. 
 
 Both of the Chouans got up together and seized their 
 carbines. 
 
 " M. Marche-a-Terre, I did not say one word about the 
 Gars." 
 
 "Get your hatchet, I tell you," was the Chouan's answer. 
 
 The wretched Galope-Chopine stumbled over his child's 
 rough bedstead, and three five-franc pieces fell out on to the 
 floor. Pille-Miche picked them up. 
 
 " Oho ! the Blues have given you new coin ! " cried Marche- 
 a-Terre. 
 
 " I have not said one word ; that is as true as that St. 
 Labre's image stands there," Galope-Chopine replied. "Bar- 
 bette mistook the Counter-Chouans for the gars from Saint- 
 Georges ; that was all." 
 
 " Why do you prate about your business to your wife?" 
 Marche-a-Terre answered roughly. 
 
 "And besides, we don't ask you for excuses, cousin; we 
 want your hatchet. You are doomed." 
 
 At a sign from his comrade, Pille-Miche helped him to 
 seize the victim. Galope-Chopine's courage broke down 
 when he found himself in the hands of the Chouans. He 
 fell on his knees and held up his despairing hands to his 
 executioners. 
 
 "Good friends," he cried, "and you, cousin, what will 
 become of my little lad ?" 
 
 " I will look after him," said Marche-a-Terre. 
 
 " Dear comrades," Galope-Chopine began again with 
 blanched cheeks, " I am not ready for death. Will you send 
 me out of the world without shrift ? You have the right to 
 take my life, but you have no right to rob me of eternal 
 bliss." 
 
 "That is true," said Marche-a-Terre, as he looked at 
 Pille-Miche.
 
 324 THE CHOUANS. 
 
 The two Chouans remained in this most awkward predica- 
 ment for a moment or two, in utter inability to resolve the 
 case of conscience. Galope-Chopine, meanwhile, listened to 
 the slightest noise made by the wind, as if he had not yet lost 
 all hope. He looked mechanically at the cider butt ; the 
 regular sound of the dripping leakage made him heave a 
 melancholy sigh. Suddenly Pille-Miche clutched the sufferer's 
 arm, drew him into a corner, and said to him 
 
 " Confess your sins to me. I will repeat them to a priest 
 of the true Church, and he will give me absolution ; if there 
 is any penance, I will do it for you." 
 
 Galope-Chopine obtained some respite by the way in which 
 he made his confession ; but in spite of the number of his 
 sins and the full account which he gave of them, he came at 
 last to the end of the list. 
 
 "Alas!" he said, when he had finished, "since I am 
 speaking to you, my cousin, as to a confessor, I affirm to you, 
 by the holy name of God, that I have nothing to reproach 
 myself with, unless it is that I have now and then buttered 
 my bread a little too well ; and I call St. Labre over there 
 above the chimney-piece to bear witness that I have not said 
 a word about the Gars. No, my friends, I did not betray 
 him." 
 
 " All right, get up, cousin ; you will explain all that to the 
 bon Dieu when the time comes." 
 
 " Let me say one little word of good-bye to Barbe 
 
 " Come, now," said Marche-a-Terre, " if you want us not 
 to think more ill of you than we can help, behave yourself 
 like a Breton, and die decently." 
 
 The two Chouans seized on Galope-Chopine again, and 
 stretched him on the bench, where he lay making no sign of 
 resistance, save convulsive movements prompted by physical 
 fear ; there was a heavy thud of the hatchet, and a sudden 
 end of his smothered cries ; his head had been struck off at a 
 blow. Marche-a-Terre took it up by a lock of hair, and went
 
 CONFESS YOUR SINS TO ME."
 
 A DAY WITHOUT A MORROW. 325 
 
 out of the hut. He looked about him and found a great nail 
 in the doorway, about which he twisted the strand of hair, 
 and so suspended the bloody head, without even closing the 
 eyes. The two Chouans washed their hands leisurely in a 
 great earthen pan full of water, put on their hats, took up 
 their carbines, and sprang over the echalier, whistling the tune 
 of the ballad of " The Captain." At the end of the field 
 Pille-Miche began in a hoarse voice to sing some odd stanzas 
 of the simple poem 
 
 The first town that they came until 
 
 Her lover has lighted down, 
 And he has clad that bonny lass 
 
 In a milk-white satin gown : 
 
 The next town that they came until 
 
 He has lighted, her lover bold, 
 And he has clad her in white silver 
 
 And in the ruddy gold : 
 
 But when she came to his regiment, 
 
 So fair a maid to greet, 
 They have taken webs of the silken cloth 
 
 To spread them beneath her feet. 
 
 As the Chouans went further and further away, the tune 
 grew less distinct ; but there was such a deep silence over the 
 country side that a note here and there reached Barbette as 
 she returned to the cabin, holding her little boy by the hand. 
 No peasant woman can hear this song with indifference, so 
 popular is it in the west of France. Barbette therefore un- 
 consciously took up the earlier verses of the ballad 
 
 We must away, bonny lassie, 
 
 For we have far to ride ; 
 We must away to the Avars, lassie, 
 
 I may no longer bide.
 
 326 THE CHOUANS. 
 
 Spare thy trouble, oh, bold captain ! 
 
 Save that treason give her thee, 
 She shall not be thine in any land, 
 
 Nor yet upon the sea ! 
 
 Her father has stripped her of her weed 
 
 And flung her into the wave, 
 But the captain has swum out cannily 
 
 His lady-love to save. 
 
 We must away, bonny lassie, etc. 
 
 Barbette came into her yard just as she had reached the 
 place in the ballad at which Pille-Miche had taken it up ; her 
 tongue was suddenly petrified, she stood motionless, and a 
 loud cry, which she instantly repressed, came from her open 
 mouth. 
 
 "Mother, dear, what is the matter?" asked the little one. 
 
 "You must go alone," cried Barbette in a choking voice, 
 as she withdrew her hand from his, and pushed him from her 
 with indescribable roughness. "You have a father and mother 
 no longer ! " 
 
 The child rubbed his shoulder, but he caught sight of the 
 head as he cried, and, though his pink and white face was 
 still puckered by the nervous twitch that tears give to the fea- 
 tures, he grew silent. He stared wide-eyed for a long while 
 at his father's head, with a stolid expression that revealed no 
 emotion whatever ; his face, brutalized by ignorance, at last 
 came to wear a look of savage curiosity. At last Barbette 
 suddenly took her child's hand in a powerful grip, and hur- 
 ried him into the house. One of Galope-Chopine's shoes had 
 fallen off when Pille-Miche and Marche-a-Terre had stretched 
 him on the bench ; it had lain beneath his neck, and was 
 filled with blood. This was the first thing that met the 
 widow's eyes. 
 
 "Take off your sabot," the mother said to her son, "and 
 put your foot in that. Good ! Always remember your father's
 
 A DAY WITHOUT A MORROW. 327 
 
 shoe," she cried in piteous tones. " Never set a shoe on your 
 foot without remembering how this one was full of blood that 
 the Chuins spilt, and kill the Chains ! " 
 
 She shook her head so violently as she spoke, that the long 
 locks of her black hair fell about her throat and gave her face 
 a sinister look. 
 
 "I call St. Labre to witness," she went on, "that I dedi- 
 cate you to the Blues. You shall be a soldier, so that you 
 may avenge your father. Kill them ! Kill the Chuins, and 
 do as I do. Ah ! they have taken my husband's head, and I 
 will give the head of the Gars to the Blues." 
 
 She sprang to the bed at a bound, drew a little bag of 
 money from its hiding-place, took her astonished child by the 
 hand, and dragged him forcibly with her, not even leaving 
 him time to put on his sabot again. Then they both set out 
 for Fougeres at a quick pace, neither of them giving a look 
 behind them at the cottage they were forsaking. When they 
 reached the summit of the crags of St. Sulpice, Barbette stirred 
 up her fire of faggots, and her little son helped her to pile on 
 bushes of green broom with the rime upon them, so as to in- 
 crease the volume of smoke. 
 
 " That will outlast your father's life, and mine, and the 
 Gars' too," said Barbette savagely, as she pointed out the fire 
 to her child. 
 
 While Galope-Chopine's widow and son, with his foot dyed 
 in blood, were watching the eddying smoke-wreaths with 
 brooding looks of vengeance and curiosity, Mile, de Verneuil's 
 eyes were fastened on the crag. She tried, in vain, to discern 
 the signal there of which the Marquis had spoken. The fog 
 had grown gradually denser, and the whole district was en- 
 veloped in a gray veil that hid the outlines of the landscape, 
 even at a little distance from the town. She looked with fond 
 anxiety at the crags and the castle, and at the buildings that 
 loomed through the heavy air like darker masses of the fog 
 itself. A few trees round about her window stood out against
 
 328 THE CHOUANS. 
 
 the bluish background, like branching corals dimly seen in the 
 depths of a calm sea. The sun had given to the sky the 
 yellowish hues of tarnished silver, its rays shed a vague red 
 color over the bare branches of the trees, where a few last 
 withered leaves were still hanging. But Marie felt an agita- 
 tion of soul too delightful to allow her to draw dark auguries 
 from this scene ; it was too much out of harmony with the 
 happiness to come, of which, in thought, she took her fill. 
 
 Her ideas had altered strangely in the past two days. 
 Slowly the fierceness and uncontrolled outbursts of her pas- 
 sions had been subdued by the influence of the even warmth 
 that true love brings into a life. The certain knowledge that 
 she was beloved, for which she had sought through so many 
 perils, had awakened in her a desire to return within the 
 limits in which society sanctions happiness limits which de- 
 spair alone had led her to overstep. A love that only lasts for 
 the space of a moment seemed to her to betoken weakness of 
 soul. She had a sudden vision of herself, withdrawn from the 
 depths wherein misfortune had plunged her, and restored 
 again to the high position in which she had been placed by 
 her father. Her vanity awoke, after being repressed by the 
 cruel vicissitudes of a passion that had met at times with hap- 
 piness and again at times with scorn. She saw all the advan- 
 tages conferred by an exalted rank. When she was married 
 to Montauran, and came into the world (so to speak) as a 
 marquise, would she not live and act in the sphere to which she 
 naturally belonged ? She could appreciate better than other 
 women the greatness of the feelings and thoughts that underlie 
 family life ; for she had known the chances of a life of con- 
 tinual adventure. The responsibilities and cares of marriage 
 and motherhood would for her be a rest rather than a burden. 
 She looked forward longingly, through this last storm, to a 
 quiet and virtuous life, as a woman tired of virtuous conduct 
 might give a covetous glance at an illicit passion. Virtue for 
 her possessed a new attraction. She turned away from the
 
 A DAY WITHOUT A MORROW. 329 
 
 window, for she could not see the fire on the crags of St. 
 Sulpice. 
 
 " Perhaps I have coquetted overmuch with him? But was 
 it not in this way that I learned how well I was beloved? 
 Francine, it is a dream no longer ! To-night I shall be the 
 Marquise de Montauran ! What can I have done to deserve 
 such entire happiness? Oh ! I love him and love alone can 
 requite love. And yet, it is God's purpose doubtless to re- 
 ward me, because I have kept so much love in my heart through 
 so many miseries ; and to make me forget all that I have suf- 
 fered, for I have suffered greatly, as you know, dear child." 
 
 "You, Marie ! You to-night the Marquise de Montauran? 
 Ah ! until it is over and done, I shall think that I am dream- 
 ing. Who taught him to know your worth?" 
 
 "But he has not only a handsome face, dear child ; he has 
 a soul too ! If you had seen him in danger, as I did ! Ah ! 
 he is so brave, he needs must know how to love well ! " 
 
 " If you love him so much, why do you allow him to come 
 to Fougeres? " 
 
 " Had we time to say a word to each other before we were 
 surprised ? Besides that, is it not one more proof of his 
 love? Can one ever have enough of them? Do my hair. 
 He will not be here yet." 
 
 But stormy thoughts still mingled themselves with the 
 anxieties of coquetry, and again and again she spoiled the 
 carefully arranged effects, as her hair was dressed, by move- 
 ments that seemed to be electric. As she shook out a curl 
 into waves, or smoothed the glossy plaits, a trace of mistrust 
 made her ask herself whether the Marquis was playing her 
 false. And then came the thought that such baseness would 
 be unfathomable, for in coming to seek her at Fougeres he 
 had boldly laid himself open to swift and condign punish- 
 ment. She studied keenly in the mirror the effects of a side- 
 glance, of a smile, of a slight contraction of her brows, of a 
 gesture of anger, scorn, or love ; seeking in this way for a
 
 330 THE CHOUANS. 
 
 woman's wile that should probe the young chiefs heart, even 
 at the last moment. 
 
 "You are right, Francine," said she. "Like you, I wish 
 that the marriage was over. This is the last of my over- 
 clouded days it is big with my death or our happiness. This 
 fog is detestable," she added, looking afresh at the summits 
 of St. Sulpice that were still hidden from her. 
 
 With her own hands she arranged the curtains of silk and 
 muslin that draped the window, taking a pleasure in shutting 
 out the daylight, and so producing a soft gloom in the 
 chamber. 
 
 ''Take away those knick knacks that cover the chimney- 
 piece, Francine," she said; "leave nothing there but the 
 clock and the two Dresden vases. I myself will put into 
 them those winter flowers that Corentin found for me. Take 
 all the chairs out of the room ; I only care to keep the arm- 
 chair and the sofa; and when you have done these things, 
 child, brush the carpet, to make the colors look brighter, and 
 put candles in the sconces by the fireside and in the candle- 
 sticks." 
 
 Marie looked long and closely at the ancient tapestry that 
 covered the walls of the room. Her innate taste discovered 
 among the vivid colors of the warp the hues which could 
 serve to bring this decoration of a bygone day into harmony 
 with the furniture and accessories of the boudoir hues which 
 either repeated their colors or made a charming contrast with 
 them. The same idea pervaded her arrangement of the 
 flowers with which she filled the fantastic vases about the 
 room. The sofa was drawn up to the fire. Upon two gilded 
 tables on either side of the bed, which stood near the wall 
 opposite to the chimney-piece, she set great Dresden vases 
 filled with leafage and sweet-scented flowers. More than once 
 she trembled as she arranged the voluminous folds of green 
 silk brocade about the bed, and followed with her eyes the 
 curving lines of the flowered pattern on the coverlet which
 
 A DAY WITHOUT A MORROW. 331 
 
 she laid over it. About such preparations there is an indefin- 
 able secret happiness, a delightful stimulation that causes a 
 woman to forget all her doubts in the pleasure of her task, as 
 Mile, de Verneuil did at this moment. Is there not a kind 
 of religious sentiment about the innumerable pains thus under- 
 taken to please a beloved being, who is not there to behold 
 them and to recompense them ; but who must, later on, feel 
 the significance of these charming preparations, and repay 
 them with an approving smile? In moments like these, 
 women give themselves up to love in advance, so to speak. 
 There is not one who does not say to herself, as Mile, de Ver- 
 neuil said in her thought, "I shall be very happy to-night." 
 The most innocent among them at such times sets this sweet 
 hope in the least folds of the silk or muslin, and the harmony 
 that she establishes about her steeps the whole of her surround- 
 ings in an atmosphere of love. All things in this delicious 
 world of her creation become living beings and onlookers ; 
 she already makes them accomplices in her happiness to come. 
 At each movement and at each thought, she grows bold to 
 rob the future. Soon her hopes and expectations cease, and 
 she reproaches the silence. She must needs take the slightest 
 sound for a presage, till doubt, at last, sets his talons in her 
 heart, and she feels the torture of a burning thought that 
 surges within her, and that brings something like a physical 
 strain to bear upon her. Without the sustaining hope of joy, 
 she could never bear those alternations of exultation and of 
 anguish. 
 
 Time after time Mademoiselle de Verneuil had drawn the 
 curtains aside, hoping to see a column of smoke rising above 
 the rocks ; but the fog appeared to grow denser every moment, 
 until at last its grisly hues affected her imagination, and 
 seemed to be full of evil augury. In a moment of impatience 
 she let the curtain fall, and vowed to herself that she would 
 not raise it again. She looked discontentedly round the room 
 for which she had found a soul and a language, asked herself
 
 332 THE CHOUANS. 
 
 whether her preparations had all been made in vain, and fell 
 to pondering over them, at the thought. 
 
 She drew Francine into the adjoining dressing-closet, in 
 which there was a round casement looking out upon the dimly 
 visible corner of the cliffs where the fortifications of the town 
 joined the rocks of the promenade. 
 
 " Little one," she said, " put this in order for me, and let 
 everything be fresh and neat ! You may leave the salon in 
 disorder, if you will," she added, with one of the smiles that 
 women keep for those who know them best, with a subtle 
 delicacy in it that men can never understand. 
 
 " Ah ! how lovely you look ! " cried the little Breton maid, 
 
 " Eh ! fools that we all are, is not our lover our fairest 
 ornament?" 
 
 Francine left her stretched languidly on the sofa. As she 
 went out slowly step by step, she began to see that, whether 
 her mistress was beloved or not, she would never betray Mon- 
 tauran. 
 
 " Are you sure about this yarn of yours, old woman ? " said 
 Hulot to Barbette, who had recognized him as she came into 
 Fougeres. 
 
 " Have you eyes in your head? There! look over there 
 at the rocks of St. Sulpice, master, to the right of St. Leon- 
 ard !" 
 
 Corentin scanned the ridge in the direction indicated by 
 Barbette's finger; the fog began to clear off a little, so that 
 he could distinctly see the column of pale smoke of which 
 Galope-Chopine's widow had spoken. 
 
 " But when is he coming ? Eh, old woman ? This evening, 
 or to-night?" 
 
 " I know nothing about it, master," Barbette answered. 
 
 " Why do you betray your own side ? " asked Hulot sharply, 
 when he had drawn the peasant woman a few paces away from 
 Corentin.
 
 A DAY WITHOUT A MORROW. 333 
 
 "Ah ! my lord general, look at my lad's foot ! See, it is 
 dipped in my husband's blood ! The Chuins butchered him 
 like a calf, begging your pardon, to punish him for those three 
 words that you got out of me when I was at work the day 
 before yesterday. Take my gars, since you have made him 
 fatherless and motherless, but make a thorough Blue of him, 
 master, so that he may kill many Chuins ! Look, here are 
 two hundred crowns. Take charge of them for him. With 
 care, they ought to last him a long time, for it took his father 
 twelve years to get them together." 
 
 Hulot stared in amazement at the peasant woman. Her 
 wrinkled face was white, and her eyes were tearless. 
 
 " But what will become of you yourself, mother? It would 
 be better if you took charge of the money yourself," the 
 commandant suggested. 
 
 She shook her head sadly. " I need nothing more now. 
 You might clap me into the dungeons below Melusiana's tower 
 there" (and she pointed to one of the towers of the castle), 
 and the Chuins would find means to get at me and kill me 
 there!" 
 
 She clasped her little lad in her arms, and her brow was 
 dark with pain as she looked at him ; two tears fell from her 
 eyes, and with one more look at him she vanished. 
 
 "Commandant," said Corentin, "here is an opportunity, 
 and if we mean to profit by it, we shall require two hard heads 
 rather than one. We know everything, and yet we know 
 nothing. If we were to encompass Mile, de Verneuil's house 
 at once, we should set her against us, and you and I, and your 
 Counter-Chouans, and both your battalions all put together, 
 would be no match for that girl, if she has taken it into her 
 head to save her ci-devant. The fellow is a courtier, and con- 
 sequently he is crafty; he is a young man, moreover, and 
 mettlesome. We could never get possession of him as he 
 enters Fougeres ; he may possibly be in Fougeres already. 
 And as for making domiciliary visits, the thing would be
 
 334 THE CHOUANS. 
 
 absurd ! We should not make anything by it ; it would give the 
 alarm, and it would plague the townspeople." 
 
 " I shall order the sentry on guard at St. Leonard to lengthen 
 his round by two or three paces," said Hulot, out of patience ; 
 " in that way he will come in front of Mile, de Verneuil's 
 house. I shall arrange for every sentinel to give a signal, and 
 I myself shall wait in the guard-house. Then when they let 
 me know that any young man whatever has entered the town, 
 I shall take a corporal and four men with me, and " 
 
 " And how if the young man is not the Marquis after all ? " 
 said Corentin, interrupting the impetuous soldier. " How if 
 the Marquis enters by none of the gates? If he is in Mile. 
 de Verneuil's house already? If if " 
 
 Corentin looked at the commandant with an air of superi- 
 ority in which there was something so offensive that the old 
 soldier exclaimed 
 
 " Mille tonnerres de Dieu ! Go about your business, citizen 
 of hell ! What is all that tome? If this cockchafer tumbles 
 into one of my guard-houses, there is no help for it, but I 
 must shoot him ; if I hear that he is in a house, there is no 
 help for it, but I must search the house and take him and 
 shoot him. But the devil take me if I will cudgel my brains 
 to soil my uniform " 
 
 "Commandant, the letter from the three ministers orders 
 you to obey Mile, de Verneuil." 
 
 " Let her come to me herself, citizen, and then I will see 
 what I will do." 
 
 " Very good, citizen," Corentin answered stiffly ; " she will 
 not be very long about it. She shall tell you herself the hour 
 and the minute when the ci-devant comes. Possibly she will 
 not be content until she has seen you post the sentries and 
 surround her house ! " 
 
 "He is the devil incarnate ! " said Hulot plaintively, as he 
 watched Corentin stride back up the Queen's Staircase, where 
 all this had taken place, and reach St. Leonard's gate. " He
 
 A DAY WITHOUT A MORROW. 335 
 
 is for betraying the citizen Montauran to me, bound hand and 
 foot," the chief of demi-brigade went on, speaking to him- 
 self, "and I shall have the plague of presiding at a court-martial. 
 After all," said he, with a shrug of his shoulders, " the Gars 
 is an enemy of the Republic ; he killed my poor friend Gerard, 
 and in any case he is an aristocrat. But the devil take it ! " 
 
 He turned quickly on his heel, and set out to go the rounds 
 of the town, whistling the Marseillaise as he went. 
 
 Mile, de Verneuil was steeped in those musings whose secrets 
 lie buried, as it were, in the inmost depths of the soul ; musings 
 made up of numberless thoughts and emotions at war with one 
 another, which have often proved to those who have suffered 
 from them that a stormy and passionate life may be lived within 
 four walls ; nay, without even leaving the ottoman whereon 
 existence is burning itself away. The girl, who was now face 
 to face with the catastrophe of a drama of her own seeking, 
 reviewed each scene of love or anger that had stimulated life 
 so powerfully during the ten days that had elapsed since she 
 first met the Marquis. While she mused, the sound of a man's 
 footstep, echoing in the adjoining salon, made her tremble ; the 
 door opened, she turned her head quickly, and saw Corentin. 
 
 " Little trickster ! " said the superior agent of police, " so 
 you still have a mind to deceive me? Oh! Marie! Marie! 
 you are playing a very dangerous game when you determine 
 on the strokes without consulting me, and do not attach me 
 to your interests ! If the Marquis has escaped his fate " 
 
 " It has been through no fault of yours, is not that what 
 you mean?" said Mile, de Verneuil with poignant irony. 
 "What right have you to enter my house a second time?" 
 she went on severely. 
 
 " Your house ? " he queried in bitter tones. 
 
 "You remind me," she replied with dignity, "that I am 
 not in my own house. Perhaps you deliberately chose it out. 
 so that you might the more surely do your murderous work
 
 336 THE CHOUANS. 
 
 here? I will go out of it. I would go out into a desert 
 rather than receive " 
 
 "Spies speak out!" Corentin concluded. "But this 
 house is neither yours nor mine ; it belongs to the govern- 
 ment; and as for leaving it," he added, with a diabolical 
 glance at her, " you will do nothing of the kind." 
 
 An indignant impulse brought Mile, de Verneuil to her 
 feet. She made a step or two towards him, but suddenly 
 came to a standstill, for she saw Corentin raise the curtain 
 over the window, and the smile with which he asked her 
 to rejoin him. 
 
 "Do you see that column of smoke?" he said, with the 
 unshaken calmness which he knew how to preserve in his hag- 
 gard face, however deeply his feelings had been stirred. 
 
 <*What connection can there possibly be between my 
 departure and those weeds that they are burning?" she 
 inquired. 
 
 " Why is your voice so changed ? " asked Corentin. " Poor 
 little thing," he added in gentle tones, " I know everything! 
 The Marquis is coming to Fougeres to-day ; and you had no 
 purpose in your mind of giving him up to us when you set 
 this boudoir in such festive array, with flowers and lights." 
 
 Mile, de Verneuil turned pale. She read Montauran's 
 death-warrant in the eyes of this tiger in human shape, and 
 the love within her for her lover grew to frenzy. Every hair 
 of her head seemed to be a source of hideous and intolerable 
 pain, and she sank down upon the ottoman. For a moment 
 Corentin stood with his arms folded across his chest. He was 
 half-pleased at the sight of a torture which avenged all the 
 sarcasm and scorn that the woman before him had heaped 
 upon his head, half-vexed to see a being suffer whose yoke he 
 had liked to bear, heavily though it had lain on him. 
 
 " She loves him ! " he said in a smothered voice. 
 
 " Loves him f " she cried ; " what does that word signify ? 
 Corentin, he is my life, my soul, my very breath
 
 A DAY WITHOUT A MORROW. 337 
 
 The man's calmness appalled her ; she flung herself at his 
 feet. 
 
 " Sordid soul ! " she cried ; "I would rather abase myself 
 to obtain his life than abase myself to take it ! Save him I 
 will, at the price of every drop of blood in me. Speak 1 
 What do you want? " 
 
 Corentin trembled. 
 
 "I came to take my orders from you, Marie," he said, in 
 dulcet tones, as he raised her with polished grace. "Yes, 
 Marie, your insults will not check my devotion to you, pro 
 vided that you never deceive me again. As you know, Marie, 
 no one ever fools me and goes scatheless." 
 
 " Oh ! if you want me to love you, Corentin, help me to 
 save him ! " 
 
 " Well, when is the Marquis coming? "he said, forcing 
 himself to ask the question calmly. 
 
 " Alas ! I do not know." 
 
 They both looked at each other in silence. 
 
 " I am lost ! " said Mile, de Verneuil to herself. 
 
 " She is playing me false," thought Corentin. " Marie," 
 he went on, " I have two maxims : one is, never to believe a 
 word that women say which is the way to avoid being 
 gulled by them ; and the other is, always to seek to discover 
 whether they have not some motive for doing the very oppo- 
 site of the thing they say, and for behaving in a fashion the 
 very reverse of the course of action which they are kind 
 enough to disclose to us in confidence. Now, we understand 
 each other, I think." 
 
 "Admirably," replied Mile, de Verneuil. "You require 
 proofs of my good faith ; but I am holding them back until 
 you shall give me proofs of yours." 
 
 " Good-bye, mademoiselle," said Corentin drily. 
 
 " Come," the girl said, smiling at him, " sit down. Seat 
 yourself there, and do not be sulky, or I shall readily find 
 means to save the Marquis without your aid. As for the three 
 22
 
 838 THE CHOUANS. 
 
 hundred thousand francs that are always spread out before 
 your eyes, I can lay them there upon the chimney-piece, in 
 gold, for you the moment that the Marquis is in safety." 
 
 Corentin rose to his feet, drew back several paces, and 
 looked at Mile, de Verneuil. 
 
 " You have grown rich in a very short time ! " said he, with 
 ill-concealed bitterness in his tones. 
 
 " Montauran himself could offer you very much more for 
 his ransom," said Marie, with a pitying smile. "So prove 
 to me that it is in your power to protect him against all 
 dangers, and " 
 
 " Could you not arrange for him to escape the very moment 
 that he arrives," Corentin exclaimed suddenly, " for Hulot 
 does not know the hour, and " 
 
 He broke off as though he blamed himself for having said 
 too much. 
 
 "But can it be that you are asking me for a stratagem ? " 
 he went on, smiling in the most natural manner. " Listen, 
 Marie, I am certain of your good faith. Promise that you 
 will make good to me all that I am losing by serving you, 
 and I will see that that blockhead of a commandant shall 
 sleep so soundly that the Marquis will be as much at liberty 
 here in Fougeres as in St. James itself." 
 
 "I give you my word," the girl said, with a kind of 
 solemnity. 
 
 "Not in that way though," he said. "Swear it by your 
 mother." 
 
 Mile, de Verneuil shivered; then she raised a trembling 
 hand and took the oath the man required of her. His 
 manners underwent an instant change. 
 
 "You may do what you will with me," said Corentin. 
 " Do not deceive me and you will bless me this evening." 
 
 "I believe you, Corentin ! " exclaimed Mile, de Verneuil, 
 quite softened towards him. 
 
 She bowed graciously as she took leave of him, and there
 
 A DAY WITHOUT A MORROW. 339 
 
 was a kindliness not unrningled with wonder in her smile, 
 when she saw the expression of melancholy tenderness on his 
 face. 
 
 "What an entrancing creature!" cried Corentin, as he 
 withdrew. " And is she never to be mine, never to be the 
 instrument of my fortune and the source of my pleasures? 
 To think that she should throw herself at my feet ! Yes, the 
 Marquis shall die ; and if I can only obtain her by plunging 
 her in the mire, I will thrust her down into it. Yet, it is pos- 
 sible that she mistrusts me no longer," he said to himself as 
 he reached the square, whither he had unconsciously bent his 
 steps. " A hundred thousand crowns at a moment's notice ! 
 She thinks that I covet money. It is a trick of hers, or else 
 she has married him." 
 
 Corentin did not venture to resolve on anything ; he was 
 lost in thought. The fog, which the sun had partially dis- 
 pelled at noon, gradually thickened again, and grew so dense 
 at last that Corentin could no longer see the trees, though 
 they were only a short distance from him. 
 
 " Here is a fresh piece of bad luck," he said to himself, as 
 he went slowly back to his lodging. " It is impossible to see 
 anything six paces off. The weather is shielding our lovers. 
 How is a house to be watched when it is enveloped in such a 
 fog as this? Who goes there ?" he called, as he caught an 
 arm belonging to some unknown person, who had apparently 
 scrambled up on to the promenade over the most dangerous 
 places of the rock. 
 
 " It is I," was the guileless answer in a child's voice. 
 
 " Ah ! it is the little red-foot lad. Do you not want to 
 avenge your father?" Corentin asked. 
 
 " Yes ! " cried the child. 
 
 "Good. Do you know the Gars when you see him?" 
 asked Corentin. 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " Better still. Now keep with me, and do exactly as I bid
 
 340 THE CHOUANS. 
 
 you in everything, and you will finish your mother's work, 
 and earn some big pennies. Do you like big pennies?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " So you like big pennies, and you want to kill the Gars. 
 I will take care of you. Now, Marie ! " Corentin said within 
 himself after a pause; " you shall give him up to us yourself. 
 She is too impetuous to think calmly over the blow that I 
 mean to give her ; and, besides, passion never reflects. She 
 does not know Montauran's handwriting ; now is the time to 
 set the snare into which her nature will make her rush blind- 
 fold. But Hulot is necessary to me if my scheme is to suc- 
 ceed. I will go and see him. 
 
 Meanwhile, Mile, de Verneuil and Francine were ponder- 
 ing devices for saving the Marquis from Corentin's dubious 
 generosity and Hulot's bayonets. 
 
 "I will go and warn him ! " the little Breton maid cried. 
 
 " Mad girl ! do you know where he is? I myself, with all 
 the instincts of my heart to guide me, might search a long 
 while for him and never find him." 
 
 After devising a goodly number of the wild schemes that 
 are so easily carried out by the fireside, Mile, de Verneuil 
 exclaimed, "When I see him, his peril will give me inspira- 
 tion ! " 
 
 Like all vehement natures, she delighted in leaving her 
 course undecided till the last moment trusting in her star, or 
 in the ready wit and skill that seldom desert a woman. Per- 
 haps nothing had ever wrung her heart so violently before. 
 Sometimes she seemed to remain in a kind of stupor, with her 
 eyes set in a stare ; sometimes the slightest sound shook her 
 from head to foot, as some half-uprooted tree quivers violently 
 when the woodman's rope about it drags it hastily to its fall. 
 There was a sudden loud report in the distance as a dozen 
 guns were fired. Mile, de Verneuil turned pale, caught Fran- 
 cine's hand, and said 
 
 " I am dying, Francine ; they have killed him ! "
 
 A DAY WITHOUT A MORROW. 341 
 
 They heard the heavy footstep of a soldier in the salon, and 
 the terrified Francine rose to admit a corporal. The Repub- 
 lican made a military salute, and presented Mile, de Verneuil 
 with some letters written on soiled paper. As he received no 
 acknowledgment from the young lady to whom he gave them, 
 he said as he withdrew 
 
 "They are from the commandant, madame." 
 
 Mile, de Verneuil, a prey to dark forebodings, read the 
 letter, which Hulot had probably written in haste 
 
 " Mademoiselle," so it ran, " my Counter-Chouans have 
 seized one of the Gars' messengers, who has just been shot. 
 Among the letters thus intercepted is the one that I send, 
 which may be of some use to you," etc. 
 
 " Heaven be thanked, it was not he whom they killed ! " 
 she cried, as she threw the letter into the fire. She breathed 
 more freely, and eagerly read the note that had just been sent 
 to her. It was from the Marquis, and appeared to be addressed 
 to Mme. du Gua 
 
 " No, my angel, this evening I shall not be at the Vivetiere, 
 and this evening you will lose your wager with the Count, for 
 I shall triumph over the Republic inthe person of this deli- 
 cious girl, who is certainly worth a night, as you must agree. 
 This is the only real advantage that I have gained in the cam- 
 paign, for La Vendee is submitting. There is nothing left 
 for us to do in France, and we will, of course, return to Eng- 
 land together. But serious business to-morrow ! " 
 
 The note slipped from her fingers. She closed her eyes and 
 lay back in absolute silence, with her head propped by a cush- 
 ion. After a long pause she raised her eyes to the clock and 
 read the hour ; it was four in the afternoon. 
 
 " And my lord is keeping me waiting ! " she said, with sav- 
 age irony. 
 
 " Oh ! perhaps he could not come ! " said Francine, by 
 way of justification for his failing to appear. 
 
 "If he does not come," said Marie, in a smothered voice,
 
 342 THE CHOUANS. 
 
 " I will go myself to find him ! But, no, he cannot be much 
 longer now. Francine, am I very beautiful ? " 
 
 ' ' You are very pale ! ' ' 
 
 " Look round ! " Mile, de Verneuil went on ; "might not 
 the perfumed room, the flowers, and the lights, this intoxi- 
 cating vapor and everything here, give an idea of a paradise 
 to him whom to-night I will steep in the bliss of love? " 
 
 " What is the matter, mademoiselle? " 
 
 " I am betrayed, deceived, thwarted, cheated, duped, and 
 ruined. I will kill him ! I will tear him in pieces ! Oh ! 
 yes, there was always something contemptuous in his manner 
 that he scarcely concealed, but I would not see it ! Oh ! this 
 will kill me ! What a fool I am ! " she laughed ; " he is on 
 his way, and to-night I will teach him that, whether wedded 
 to me or not,the man who has possessed me can never forsake me 
 afterwards. My revenge shall be commensurate with his offence 
 he shall die in despair ! I thought that there was some- 
 thing great in him ; but he is the son of a lackey, there is no 
 question of it. Truly, he has deceived me cleverly ! Even 
 now, I can scarcely believe that the man who was capable of 
 giving me up to Pille-Miche without mercy could condescend 
 to trickery not unworthy of Scapin. It is so easy to dupe a 
 loving woman, that it is the lowest depth of baseness ! He 
 might kill me ; well and good ; but that he should lie to me, 
 to me who had set him on high ! To the scaffold with him ! 
 I wish I could see him guillotined ! Am I so very cruel ? He 
 shall go to his death covered with kisses and caresses, which 
 will have been worth twenty years of life to him ! " 
 
 "Marie," said Francine with angelic meekness, "be the 
 victim of your lover, as so many another has been, but do not 
 be his mistress or his executioner. In the depths of your heart 
 you can keep his image, and it need not make you cruel to 
 yourself. If there were no joy in love when hope is gone, 
 what would become of us, poor women that we are ? The 
 God of whom you never think, Marie, will reward us for
 
 A DAY WITHOUT A MORROW. 343 
 
 having submitted to our lot upon earth to our vocation of 
 loving and suffering." 
 
 "Little puss," answered Mile, de Verneuil, as she stroked 
 Francine's hand, " your voice is very sweet and very winning. 
 Reason, when she takes your form, has many charms. How 
 I wish that I could obey you ! " 
 
 " You will forgive him? You will not give him up? " 
 
 " Hush ! do not speak of that man any more. Corentin 
 is a noble creature compared with him. Do you understand 
 me?" 
 
 She rose to her feet. Her wild thoughts and unquenchable 
 thirst for vengeance were concealed beneath the dreadful 
 quietness of her face. The very slowness of her measured 
 footsteps seemed to betoken the fixed purpose in her mind in 
 an indescribable way. Devouring this insult, tormented by 
 her own thoughts, and too proud to own to the least of her 
 pangs, she went to the guard-house in St. Leonard's gate, to 
 ask to be directed to the commandant's lodging. She had 
 scarcely left the house when Corentin entered it. 
 
 "Oh, M. Corentin," cried Francine, "if you are interested 
 in that young man, save him ! Mademoiselle will give him 
 up. This wretched paper has ruined everything." 
 
 Corentin took up the letter carelessly. "Where is she 
 gone?" he inquired. 
 
 "I do not know." 
 
 "I will hurry after her," he said, "to save her from her 
 own despair." 
 
 He vanished, taking the letter with him, hurried out of the 
 house with all speed, and spoke to the little boy who was 
 playing about before the door. 
 
 " Which way did the lady go when she went out just now? " 
 
 Galope-Chopiae's son went several paces with Corentin, 
 and pointed out the steep road which led to St. Leonard's gate. 
 
 "That way," he said, without hesitating, faithful to the 
 instinct of vengeance that his mother had inspired in him.
 
 344 THE CHOUANS. 
 
 While he was speaking four men in disguise entered Mile. 
 de Verneuil's house; but neither Corentin nor the little boy 
 saw them. 
 
 " Go back to your post," the spy said. " Look as though 
 you were amusing yourself by turning the latches on the shut- 
 ters, but keep a sharp lookout in every direction, even upon 
 the roofs." 
 
 Corentin sped in the direction pointed out by the child. 
 He thought that he recognized Mile, de Verneuil in the fog, 
 and, as a matter of fact, he came up with her just as she reached 
 St. Leonard's gate. 
 
 "Where are you going?" said he, offering his arm to her. 
 "You look pale; what can have happened ? Is it fitting for 
 you to go out alone in this way ? Take my arm." 
 
 "Where is the commandant?" she asked him. 
 
 Mile, de Verneuil had scarcely finished the sentence when 
 she heard a reconnoitring party moving outside St. Leonard's 
 gate, and soon distinguished Hulot's deep bass voice among 
 the other confused sounds. 
 
 " Tonnerre de Dieu ! " he exclaimed. " I have never seen 
 it thicker than it is just now when we are making the rounds. 
 The ci-devant seems to have the control of the weather." 
 
 "What are you grumbling at?" said Mile, de Verneuil, as 
 she grasped his arm tightly ; " the fog can hide vengeance as 
 well as perfidy. Commandant," she went on in a low voice, 
 "it is a question now of taking such measures in concert with 
 me that the Gars shall not escape us this time." 
 
 " Is he in your house ? " he asked, and there was a troubled 
 sound in his voice that showed his astonishment. 
 
 "No," she replied; "but give me a man that can be de- 
 pended upon, and I will send him to you, to warn you of the 
 Marquis' arrival." 
 
 "What are you doing? " Corentin asked with eager haste. 
 "A soldier in your house will scare him, but a child (I will 
 find one) will not awaken suspicion "
 
 A DAY WITHOUT A MORROW. 345 
 
 "Commandant," Mile, de Verneuil resumed, "you can 
 surround my house at once, thanks to this fog that you exe- 
 crate. Post soldiers about it in every direction. Place a 
 picket in St. Leonard's church so as to secure the esplanade, 
 which is overlooked by my windows. Post men on the 
 promenade itself; for though my window is twenty feet from 
 the ground, despair sometimes gives strength sufficient to 
 overleap the most perilous distances. Listen ; I shall prob- 
 ably send this gentleman away through the house door ; so you 
 must give the task of watching it to none but a brave man ; 
 for no one can deny his courage," she said, heaving a sigh, 
 "and he will fight for his life." 
 
 "Gudin !" cried the commandant. 
 
 The young Fougerais sprang forward. He had been stand- 
 ing in the midst of the knot of men who had returned with 
 Hulot, and who had remained drawn up in rank at a little 
 distance. 
 
 " Listen, my boy," the old soldier said in low tones, " this 
 confounded girl is betraying the Gars to us. I do not know 
 why, but no matter, that is not our business. Take ten men 
 with you and post them so as to guard the blind-alley and the 
 girl's house at the end of it ; but you must manage so that 
 neither you nor your men are seen." 
 
 "Yes, commandant, I know the ground." 
 
 "Well, my boy," Hulot went on, " I will send Beau-Pied 
 to you to let you know when the moment comes to be up and 
 doing. Try to tackle the Marquis yourself; and if you can 
 kill him, so that I shall not have to try him first and shoot him 
 afterward, you shall be a lieutenant in a fortnight, or my name 
 is not Hulot. Here, mademoiselle," he said, as he pointed 
 to Gudin ; " here is a brave fellow who will flinch at nothing. 
 He will keep a sharp lookout before your house, and whether 
 the ci-devant comes out or tries to go in, he will not miss 
 him." 
 
 Gudin set out with his ten soldiers.
 
 346 THE CHOUANS. 
 
 " Do you clearly understand what you are about ? " Corentin 
 murmured to Mile, de Verneuil. 
 
 She made him no answer. With a kind of satisfaction she 
 watched the men start under the orders of the sub-lieutenant, 
 to post themselves on the promenade, and yet others, in 
 obedience to Hulot's directions, took up their position along 
 the dark walls of St. Leonard's church. 
 
 "There are houses adjoining mine," she said to the com- 
 mandant; "surround them also. Let us not lay up matter 
 for repentance by neglecting a single precaution that we ought 
 to take." 
 
 " She is mad," thought Hulot. 
 
 " Am I not a prophet? " Corentin said in his ear. " The 
 child I shall send to the house is the little gars with the bloody 
 foot, so that " 
 
 He did not finish. Mile, de Verneuil had suddenly darted 
 away towards her house, whither he followed her, whistling 
 like a happy man. When he came up with her she had already 
 reached her doorstep, where Corentin once more found Galope- 
 Chopine's son. 
 
 " Mademoiselle," he said, " take this little fellow with you ; 
 you could not have a more guileless and active messenger." 
 
 Then he breathed (so to speak) the following words into 
 the lad's ear: " When you have once seen the Gars within 
 the house, no matter what they say to you, run away, come 
 and find me at the guard-house, and I will give you enough 
 to find you in bread for the rest of your life." Corentin felt 
 his hand squeezed hard by the young Breton, who followed 
 Mile, de Verneuil. 
 
 " Now, my good friends, come to an explanation whenever 
 you like," cried Corentin, when the door was shut. "If 
 you make love, my Lord Marquis, it will be over your own 
 shroud ! " 
 
 Yet Corentin could not bring himself to go out of sight of 
 that fatal house, and betook himself to the promenade, where
 
 A DAY WITHOUT A MORROW. 347 
 
 he found the commandant busily giving orders. Night soon 
 came on. Two hours passed by, and still the different sentries 
 distributed at their posts had seen nothing that could lead 
 them to suspect that the Marquis had come through the triple 
 line of men, who were watching from their hiding-places along 
 the three sides of the Papegaut's Tower by which access was 
 possible. Corentin had walked from the promenade to the 
 guard-house a score of times, and each time his expectations 
 had been disappointed, and his young messenger had not yet 
 come to find him. Plunged in deep thought, the spy strolled 
 slowly along the promenade, undergoing the martyrdom to 
 which three terrible conflicting passions subjected him a 
 victim to love, ambition, and greed of gold. 
 
 It struck eight on all the clocks. The moon rose late, so 
 that the scene on which this drama of his own devising was 
 about to come to a crisis was wrapped in appalling gloom by 
 the darkness and the thick fog. The agent of police managed 
 to suppress his passions ; he locked his arms over his breast, 
 and never took his eyes off the window that stood out above 
 the tower like a gleaming phantom shape. Whenever his 
 steps led him to the side of the promenade nearest the valleys, 
 along the brink of the precipices, he mechanically scrutinized 
 the fog, with the long pale streaks of light flung across it here 
 and there, from some window among the houses in the town 
 or suburbs, above or below the fortifications. The deep 
 silence that prevailed was only troubled by the murmur of the 
 Nancon, by melancholy sounds at intervals from the belfry, 
 or by the footsteps of the sentinels and the clank of weapons, 
 when they came to relieve guard hour by hour. Everything, 
 men and nature alike, had grown solemn. 
 
 "It is as dark as a wolfs throat," Pille-Miche remarked 
 just then. 
 
 "Go along," replied Marche-a-Terre, "and keep as quiet 
 as a dead dog." 
 
 " I scarcely dare draw my breath," the Chouan retorted.
 
 348 THE CHOUANS. 
 
 " If the man who let a stone roll down just now wants my 
 knife to find a sheath in his heart, he has only to do it again," 
 said Marche-a-Terre, in so low a voice that it mingled con- 
 fusedly with the murmur of the Nangon. 
 
 " Why, it was I," said Pille-Miche. 
 
 " Well, old money-bag, creep along on your belly like a 
 snake, or we shall leave our carcases here before there is any 
 occasion for it." 
 
 " Hi ! Marche-a-Terre," the incorrigible Pille-Miche began 
 again. He had laid himself flat on the ground, and was 
 using both hands to hoist himself on to the path where his 
 comrade was, and now he spoke in the ear of the latter in 
 so low a voice that the Chouans following behind him did not 
 catch a syllable that he said. "Hi! Marche-a-Terre, if we 
 are to believe our Grand-Garce, there is a glorious lot of 
 plunder up there. Will you go halves? " 
 
 "Listen, Pille-Miche!" said Marche-a-Terre, as, still flat 
 on his stomach, he came to a stop, a movement imitated by 
 the whole troop of Chouans, so exhausted were they by the 
 difficulties of their progress up the steep sides of the precipice. 
 
 "I know you for one of those honest grab-alls, who are as 
 fond of giving hard knocks as of taking them, when there is 
 no other choice. We have not come here after dead men's 
 shoes ; it is devil against devil, and woe to them that have the 
 shorter claws ! The Grande-Garce sent us here to rescue the 
 Gars. That is where he is, look ! Lift up your dog's head 
 and look at that window, up above the tower ! " It was on 
 the stroke of midnight as he spoke. The moon rose, and the 
 fog began to look like pale smoke. Pille-Miche gripped 
 Marche-a-Terre's arm violently, and pointed out, without 
 making a sound, the gleaming triangular blades of several 
 bayonets, some ten feet above them. 
 
 "The Blues are there already," said Pille-Miche; we have 
 not a chance against them." 
 
 "Patience! " replied Marche-a-Terre; "if I looked into
 
 A DAY WITHOUT A MORROW. 349 
 
 it thoroughly this morning, there should be, somewhere about 
 the base of the Papegaut's Tower and between the ramparts 
 and the promenade, a space where they are always heaping 
 manure ; one can drop down on to it as if it were a bed." 
 
 " If St. Labre would turn all the blood that will be shed 
 into good cider, the Fougeres people would find a very ample 
 supply of it to-morrow," remarked Pille-Miche. 
 
 Marche-a-Terre laid his great hand over his friend's mouth ; 
 then the muttered caution that he gave passed from line to 
 line till it reached the last Chouan, who clung aloft to the 
 heather on the schistous rock. As a matter of fact, Cor- 
 entin was standing on the edge of the esplanade, and his 
 ears were too accustomed to vigilance not to detect the 
 rustling noises made by the shrubs as the Chouans pulled 
 and twisted them, and the faint sound of the pebbles that 
 fell to the foot of the precipice below. Marche-a-Terre 
 apparently possessed the gift of seeing through the darkness, 
 or his senses had become as acute as those of a savage by 
 being constantly called into play. He had caught sight of 
 Corentin, or perhaps he had scented him like a well-trained 
 dog. The diplomatist spy listened intently to the silence, 
 and scanned the natural wall of the schist, but he could dis- 
 cover nothing there. If the hazy dubious light allowed him 
 to see a few of the Chouans at all, he took them for fragments 
 of the rock, so thoroughly did the living bodies preserve the 
 appearance of inanimate nature. The danger to the troop 
 did not last long. Corentin's attention was called away by a 
 very distinct and audible sound which came from the other 
 end of the promenade at a spot where the buttress-wall came 
 to an end and the sheer face of the rock began. A pathway 
 that ran along the edge of the schist and communicated with 
 the Queen's Staircase also ended at this point, just where the 
 rock and the masonry met. As Corentin reached the spot, a 
 form rose up as if by magic before his eyes ; and when, feel- 
 ing doubtful as to its intentions, he stretched out a hand to
 
 350 THE CHOUANS. 
 
 lay hold of the being (phantom or otherwise), he grasped the 
 soft and rounded outlines of a woman. 
 
 "The devil take it, good woman," he muttered in a low 
 tone; "if you had happened on any one else, you might 
 have come in for a bullet through your head. Where do you 
 come from, and where are you going at this time of night ? 
 Are you dumb ?" 
 
 "It really is a woman, at any rate," said he to himself. 
 
 Silence was growing dangerous, so the stranger replied in 
 tones that showed her great alarm 
 
 " Oh ! I am coming back from an up-sitting, master." 
 
 "It is the Marquis' make-believe mother," said Corentin 
 to himself. " Let us see what she will do." 
 
 "All right; go along that way, old woman," he went on 
 aloud, pretending not to recognize her. " Go to the left if 
 you don't want to be shot." 
 
 He stood motionless, till, seeing that Mme. du Gua turned 
 in the direction of the Papegaut's Tower, he followed her at a 
 distance with diabolical cunning. While this fateful meeting 
 was taking place, the Chouans had very cleverly taken up 
 their position on the manure-heap to which Marche-a-Terre 
 had guided them. 
 
 " There is the Grande-Garce ! " muttered Marche-a-Terre 
 to himself, while he shuffled along the side of the tower as a 
 bear might have done. 
 
 " Here we are ! " he said to the lady. 
 
 "Good ! " Mme. du Gua replied. "If you can find a 
 ladder about the house or in the garden that comes to an end 
 about six feet below the manure-heap, the Gars will be saved. 
 Do you see the round window up there ? It is in a dressing- 
 room that opens out of the bedroom ; and you must reach it. 
 This side of the tower, at the foot of which you are standing, 
 is the one side that is not surrounded. The horses are ready ; 
 and if you have guarded the ford of the Nancon, we ought 
 to have him out of danger in fifteen minutes, in spite
 
 A DAY WITHOUT A MORROW. 351 
 
 of his folly. But if that wench tries to follow him, stab 
 her." 
 
 Corentin now perceived through the gloom that a few of 
 the vague shapes which he had at first taken for rocks were 
 moving stealthily ; he went at once to the guard at St. 
 Leonord's gate, where he found the commandant fully dressed, 
 but sleeping on a camp bed. 
 
 "Let him alone!" Beau-Pied said roughly to Corentin; 
 " he has only just lain down there." 
 
 "The Chouans are here!" Corentin cried alarmingly in 
 Hulot's ear. 
 
 "Impossible ! but so much the better," said the comman- 
 dant, heavy with sleep though he was ; " there will be fighting 
 at any rate! " 
 
 When Hulot came to the promenade, Corentin pointed out 
 to him, through the darkness, the strange position occupied 
 by the Chouans. 
 
 " They have either outwitted or gagged the sentries that I 
 posted between the Queen's Staircase and the castle," ex- 
 claimed the commandant. "By Jove! what a fog it is! 
 But patience ! I will send fifty men and a lieutenant round 
 to the base of the cliff. We must not set upon them from 
 above, for the brutes are so tough that they will let themselves 
 drop to the bottom of the precipice like stones, and never 
 break a limb." 
 
 The cracked bell in the church-tower struck two as the 
 commandant came back to the promenade, after taking the 
 most stringent measures a soldier could devise for surprising 
 and seizing Marche-a-Terre and the Chouans under his com- 
 mand. Every guard had been doubled, so that by this time 
 Mile, de Verneuil's house had become the central point about 
 which a small army was gathered. The commandant found 
 Corentin absorbed in contemplation of the window that looked 
 out over the Papegaut's Tower. 
 
 "Citizen," said Hulot, addressing him, "it is my belief
 
 352 THE CHOUANS. 
 
 that the ci-devant is making fools of us all, for nothing has 
 stirred so far." 
 
 " There he is ! " cried Corentin, pointing to the window. 
 " I saw a man's shadow on the curtains. But I do not under- 
 stand what has become of my little boy. They have killed 
 him or gained him over. Look there, commandant ; do you 
 see ? It is a man. Let us go." 
 
 " Tonnerre de Dieu ! I am not going to arrest him in bed. 
 If he is in there, he is sure to come out ; Gudin will not miss 
 him," replied Hulot, who had his own reasons for delay. 
 
 "Come, now, commandant; in the name of the law, I 
 command you to advance instantly upon the house." 
 
 " You are a pretty fellow, at all events, to think to order 
 me about." 
 
 The commandant's wrath did not trouble Corentin. 
 
 " You will obey me," he said coolly ; "for here is an order 
 drawn up in due form, and signed by the Minister of War, 
 which will compel you to do so." He drew a paper from his 
 pocket. " Do you really think that we are fools enough to let 
 that girl act. according to her own notions? We are stamping 
 out civil war, and the greatness of the end in view justifies the 
 littleness of the means employed." 
 
 "I take the liberty, citizen, of sending you to You 
 
 understand? That is enough, then. Put your best foot fore- 
 most, and let me alone ; and do it in less than no time." 
 
 " Read this first ! " said Corentin. 
 
 " Don't plague me about your business," cried Hulot, 
 furious at receiving orders from a creature in his opinion so 
 despicable. 
 
 Galope-Chopine's son started up between the two at that 
 moment like a rat out of a hole in the ground. 
 
 "The Gars is going ! " he cried. 
 
 "Which way?" 
 
 " Along the Rue St. Leonard." 
 
 "Beau-Pied," Hulot whispered to the corporal, who was
 
 A DAY WITHOUT A MORROW. 353 
 
 standing beside him, "run and tell your lieutenant to ap- 
 proach the house, and to keep up some nice little file-firing 
 upon it; do you understand? File to the left, and march 
 towards the tower," the commandant shouted to the rest of 
 the men. 
 
 It is necessary, if the close of the drama is to be clearly 
 understood, to return and to enter Mile, de Verneuil's house 
 with her. When the passions are excited to the highest pitch, 
 the intoxication that they produce is far more complete than 
 anything effected by those paltry stimulants wine and opium. 
 The clearness of ideas to which we attain at such times, the 
 subtle keenness of our overexcited senses, bring about the 
 strangest and most unexpected results. Beneath the arbitrary 
 sway of one sole thought, certain temperaments can clearly 
 perceive the least perceptible things, while the most obvious 
 matters are for them as though they had no existence. Mile. 
 de Verneuil had fallen a victim to the kind of intoxication 
 which makes our actual existence seem to be like the life of a 
 somnambulist. When she had read Montauran's letter, she 
 had ordered all things in such a way that he could not escape 
 her vengeance, just as eagerly as she had but lately made every 
 preparation for the first festival of her love. But when she 
 saw her house carefully surrounded, by her own orders, with a 
 triple line of bayonets, a sudden gleam of light shone through 
 her soul. She sat in judgment upon her conduct, and thought 
 with a kind of revulsion that she had just perpetrated a crime. 
 Her first uneasy impulse led her to spring to the threshold of 
 her door, and to stay there motionless for a brief space, trying 
 to reflect, but utterly unable to follow out a train of thought. 
 She was so little aware of what she had just done, that she 
 Wondered why she was standing in the vestibule of her own 
 house holding a strange child by the hand. Myriads of sparks 
 like little tongues of flame swam in the air before her. She 
 took a step or two to shake off the dreadful numbness that had 
 23
 
 354 THE CHOUANS. 
 
 crept over her senses, but nothing appeared to her in its true 
 shape or with its real colors ; she was like one that slept. She 
 seized the little boy's hand with a roughness that was not 
 usual to her, and drew him along so hurriedly, that she seemed 
 to possess the activity of a mad woman. She saw nothing 
 whatever in the salon when she crossed it, though three men 
 greeted her, and stood apart to allow her to pass. 
 
 " Here she is ! " said one of them. 
 
 " She is very beautiful ! " the priest exclaimed. 
 
 "Yes," replied the first speaker, "but how pale and 
 troubled she is " 
 
 "And how absent-minded !" said the third; " she does 
 not see us." 
 
 At the door of her own room Mile, de Verneuil saw Fran- 
 cine, who whispered to her with a sweet and happy face, " He 
 is there, Marie ! " 
 
 Mile, de Verneuil seemed to awake, and to be able to 
 think ; she looked down at the child whose hand she held, 
 recognized him, and said to Francine 
 
 " Shut this little boy up somewhere, and if you wish me 
 to live, be very careful not to let him escape." 
 
 While she slowly uttered the words, she turned her eyes on 
 the door of her room, on which they rested with such appall- 
 ing fixity that it might have been thought that she saw her 
 victim through the thickness of the panels. She softly pushed 
 the door open, and closed it without turning herself, for she 
 saw the Marquis standing before the hearth. He was hand- 
 somely but not too elaborately dressed ; and there was an 
 air of festival about the young noble's attire that added to 
 the radiance with which lovers are invested in women's 
 eyes. At the sight of him, all Mile, de Verneuil's presence 
 of mind returned to her. The white enamel of her teeth 
 showed between the tightly-strained lines of her half-opened 
 lips, which described a set smile that expressed dread rather 
 than delight. With slow steps she went towards the young
 
 A DAY WITHOUT A MORROW. 355 
 
 noble, and, pointing to the clock, she spoke with hollow 
 mirth, "A man who is worthy of love is well worth the 
 anxiety with which he is expected." 
 
 But the violence of her feelings overcame her ; she fell 
 back upon the sofa that stood near the fire. 
 
 " Dear Marie, you are very charming when you are angry ! " 
 said the Marquis, seating himself beside her, taking her 
 passive hand, and entreating a glance which she would not 
 give. " I hope," he went on, in a tender and soothing voice, 
 " that in another moment Marie will be very much vexed with 
 herself for having hidden her face from her fortunate 
 husband." 
 
 She turned sharply as the words fell on her ear, and gazed 
 into his eyes. 
 
 "What does that terrible look mean?" he went on, 
 smiling. "But your hand is as hot as fire ! My love, what 
 is it?" 
 
 " My love ! " she echoed, in a stifled, unnatural voice. 
 
 "Yes," he said, falling on his knees before her, and taking 
 both her hands, which he covered with kisses ; " yes, my love, 
 I am yours for life." 
 
 Impetuously she pushed him from her, and rose to her feet. 
 Her features were distorted ; she laughed like a maniac as she 
 said 
 
 " You do not mean one word of it ; you are baser than the 
 vilest criminal ! " 
 
 She sprang quickly towards the dagger which lay beside a 
 vase, and flashed it within a few inches of the astonished 
 young man's breast. 
 
 " Bah ! " she said, flinging down the weapon, " I have not 
 enough esteem for you to kill you ! Your blood is too vile 
 even for the soldiers to shed. I see nothing but the execu- 
 tioner before you." 
 
 The words came from her with difficulty, and were uttered 
 in a low voice ; she stamped her foot like a spoiled child in
 
 856 THE CHOUANS. 
 
 a passion. The Marquis went up to her and tried to clasp her 
 in his arms. 
 
 " Do not touch me ! " she cried, drawing back in horror. 
 
 "She is mad!" said the Marquis, speaking aloud in his 
 despair. 
 
 " Yes, I am mad," she repeated, " but not yet so mad as to 
 be a toy for you. What would I not forgive to passionate 
 love ! But that you should think to possess me without any 
 love for me ! That you should even write and say so to 
 that " 
 
 "To whom have I written?" he asked in amazement, that 
 was clearly unfeigned. 
 
 " To that virtuous woman that wished to kill me ! " 
 
 The Marquis turned pale at this, and grasped the back of 
 the armchair by which he was standing so tightly that he broke 
 it, as he cried 
 
 " If Mme. du Gua has been guilty of any foul play 
 
 Mile, de Verneuil looked round for the letter and could 
 not find it again she called Francine, and the Breton maid 
 came. 
 
 "Where is the letter?" 
 
 " M. Corentin took it away with him." 
 
 " Corentin ! Ah ! I understand everything now. That 
 letter was his doing. He has deceived me, as he can deceive, 
 with diabolical ingenuity." 
 
 She went to the sofa and sank down upon it, with a 
 piercing wail, and a flood of tears fell from her eyes. Doubt 
 and certainty were equally horrible. The Marquis flung 
 himself at her feet, and clasped her to his breast, saying 
 over and over again for her the only words that he could 
 pronounce 
 
 "Why do you weep, dear angel? What is the trouble? 
 Your scornful words are full of love. Do not weep ! I love 
 you ; I love you forever ! ' ' 
 
 Suddenly he felt that she clasped him to her with super-
 
 A DAY WITHOUT A MORROW. 357 
 
 human strength, and in the midst of her sobs she said, " You 
 love me still?" 
 
 "Can you doubt it?" he answered, and his tone was 
 almost sad. 
 
 She withdrew herself suddenly from his arms, and sprang 
 back two paces, as if in confusion and dread. 
 
 " If I doubt it ? " she cried. 
 
 She saw the Marquis smiling at her with such gentle irony 
 that the words died away on her lips. She let him take her 
 hand and lead her as far as the threshold. Marie saw, at the 
 end of the salon, an altar that had been hastily erected during 
 her absence. The priest, who had resumed his ecclesiastical 
 garb, was there ; and the light upon the ceiling from the 
 shining altar candles was sweet as hope. She recognized the 
 two men who had before saluted her ; they were the Comte de 
 Bauvan and the Baron du Guenic, the two witnesses whom 
 Montauran had chosen. 
 
 "Will you still refuse? " the Marquis asked her in a low 
 voice. But when she saw the scene before her, she shrank 
 back a step so as to reach her own room again, and fell 
 upon her knees before the Marquis, and raised her hands to 
 him, and cried 
 
 " Oh, forgive me ! forgive ! forgive " 
 
 Her voice died in her throat, her head fell back, her eyes 
 were closed, and she lay as if dead in the arms of the Marquis 
 and of Francine. When she opened her eyes again she met 
 the gaze of the young chief a look full of kindness and of 
 love. 
 
 " Patience, Marie ! This is the last storm ! " he said. 
 
 " Yes, the last ! " she echoed. 
 
 Francine and the Marquis looked at each other in surprise, 
 but she enjoined silence on them both by a gesture. 
 
 " Ask the priest to come," she said, " and leave me alone 
 with him." 
 
 They withdrew.
 
 858 THE CHOUANS. 
 
 "Father," she said to the priest, who suddenly appeared 
 before her, " when I was a child, an old man with white hair 
 like you often used to tell me that if it is asked with a living 
 faith, one can obtain anything of God : is that true ? " 
 
 " It is true," the priest answered ; "all things are possible 
 to Him who has created all things." 
 
 Mile, de Verneuil threw herself on her knees with incred- 
 ible fervor. 
 
 " O God ! " she cried in her ecstasy, " my faith in Thee is 
 as great as my love for him ! Inspire me ! Work a miracle 
 here, or take my life ! " 
 
 "Your prayer will be heard," said the priest. 
 
 Mile, de Verneuil came out to meet the eyes of those 
 assembled, leaning upon the arm of the old white-haired 
 priest. It was a profound emotion hidden in the depths of 
 her heart that gave her to her lover's love ; she was more 
 beautiful now than on any bygone day, for such a serenity as 
 painters love to give to martyrs' faces had set its seal upon 
 her, and lent grandeur to her face. 
 
 She gave her hand to the Marquis, and together they 
 went towards the altar, where they knelt. This marriage, 
 which was about to be solemnized, two paces from the nuptial 
 couch ; the hastily erected altar, the crucifix, the vases, the 
 chalice brought secretly by the priest, the fumes of incense 
 floating beneath the cornices, which hitherto had only seen 
 the steam of every-day meals, the priest, who had simply 
 slipped a stole over his cassock, the altar candles in a dwelling- 
 room all united to make a strange and touching scene which 
 completes the picture of those days of sorrowful memory, 
 when civil discord had overthrown the most sacred institu- 
 tions. In those times religious ceremonies had all the charm 
 of mysteries. Children were privately baptized in the rooms 
 where their mothers still groaned. As of old, the Lord went 
 in simplicity and poverty to console the dying. Young girls 
 received the sacred wafer for the first time on the spot where
 
 A DAT WITHOUT A MORROW. 359 
 
 they had been playing only the night before. The marriage 
 of the Marquis and Mile, de Verneuil was about to be solemn- 
 ized, like so many other marriages, with an act forbidden by the 
 new legislation ; but all these marriages, celebrated for the 
 most part beneath the oak trees, were afterwards scrupulously 
 sanctioned by law. The priest who thus preserved the ancient 
 usages to the last was one of those men who are faithful to 
 their principles in the height of the storm. His voice, 
 guiltless of the oath required by the Republic, only breathed 
 words of peace through the tempest. He did not stir up 
 the fires of insurrection, as the Abbe Gudin had been wont 
 to do ; but he had devoted himself, like many others, to the 
 dangerous task of fulfilling the duties of the priest towards 
 such souls as remained faithful to the Catholic Church. In 
 order to carry out his perilous mission successfully, he made 
 use of all the pious artifices to which persecution compelled 
 him to resort ; so that the Marquis had only succeeded in 
 finding him in one of those underground hiding-places 
 which bear the name of "The Priest's Hole," even in our 
 own day. The sight of his pale worn face inspired such 
 devout feelings and respect in others, that it transformed 
 the worldly aspect of the salon and made it seem like a holy 
 place. Everything was in readiness for the act that should 
 bring misfortune and joy. In the deep silence before the 
 ceremony began the priest asked for the name of the bride. 
 
 "Marie-Nathalie, daughter of Mile. Blanche de Casteran, 
 late Abbess of Notre-Dame de Seez, and of Victor-Amedee, 
 Due de Verneuil." 
 
 "Born?" 
 
 " At la Chasterie, near Alenc.on." 
 
 "I should not have thought that Montauran would have 
 been fool enough to marry her," the Baron whispered to the 
 Count. " The natural daughter of a duke ! Out upon it ! " 
 
 " If she had been a king's daughter, he might have been 
 excused," the Comte de Bauvan said, with a smile, but I am
 
 360 THE CHOUANS. 
 
 not the one to blame him. I have a liking for the other, and 
 I mean to lay siege to Charette's Filly now. There is not 
 much coo about her ! ' ' 
 
 Montauran's designations had been previously filled in, the 
 lovers set their names to the document, and the names of the 
 witnesses followed. The ceremony began, and all the while 
 no one but Marie heard the sound of arms and the heavy 
 even tread of the soldiers coming to relieve the Blues, who 
 were, doubtless, on guard before St. Leonard's church, where 
 she herself had posted them. She shuddered and raised her 
 eyes to the crucifix upon the altar. 
 
 " She is a saint 1 " murmured Francine. 
 
 " Give me saints of that sort, and I will turn deucedly 
 devout," the Count said to himself, in a low voice. 
 
 When the priest put the usual question to Mile, de Verneuil, 
 her answering "Yes" came with a heavy sigh. She leaned 
 over, and said in her husband's ear, "In a little while you 
 will know why I break the vow that I made never to marry 
 you." 
 
 The rite was over, and those who had been present passed 
 out into the room where dinner had been served, when, just as 
 the guests were sitting down, Jeremiah came in in a state of 
 great terror. The unhappy bride rose at once and went up to 
 him, followed by Francine. Then making one of the excuses 
 that women can devise so readily, she begged the Marquis to 
 do the honors of the feast by himself for a few moments; 
 and hurried the servant away before he could commit any 
 blunder that might prove fatal. 
 
 "Oh! Francine," she said, "what a thing it is to feel 
 oneself at the brink of death, and to be unable to say, ' I am 
 dying ! ' " 
 
 Mile, de Verneuil did not return. An excuse for her 
 absence could be found in the ceremony that had just been 
 concluded. When the meal came to an end, and the Mar- 
 quis 1 anxiety had risen to its height, Marie came back in all
 
 A DAY WITHOUT A MORROW. 361 
 
 the splendor of her bridal array. She looked calm and 
 happy ; while Francine, who had returned with her, bore traces 
 of such profound terror on all her features, that those assem- 
 bled seemed to see in the faces of the two women some such 
 strange picture as the eccentric brush of Salvator Rosa might 
 have painted, representing Death and Life holding each other 
 by the hand. 
 
 " Gentlemen," she said, addressing the priest, the Baron, 
 and the Count, "you must be my guests to-night. Any 
 attempt to leave Fougeres would be too hazardous. I have 
 given orders to this good girl here to conduct each of you to 
 his own room. No resistance, I beg," she said, as the priest 
 was about to speak ; "I hope that you will not refuse to obey 
 a bride on her wedding-day." 
 
 An hour later she was alone with her lover in the bridal 
 chamber that she had made so fair. They stood at last beside 
 the fatal couch where so many hopes are blighted as by the 
 tomb, where the chances of an awakening to a happy life are 
 so uncertain, where love dies or comes into being according 
 to the power of the character that is only finally tested there. 
 Marie looked at the clock, and said to herself, " Six hours to 
 live!" 
 
 "So I have been able to sleep! " she exclaimed when, as 
 morning drew near, she woke with the shock of the sudden 
 start that disturbs us when we have agreed with ourselves on 
 the previous evening to wake at a certain hour. " Yes, I have 
 slept," she repeated, as she saw by the candle-light that the 
 hand on the dial of the clock pointed to the hour of two. 
 She turned and gazed at the Marquis, who was sleeping with 
 one hand beneath his head, as children do, while the other 
 hand grasped that of his wife. He was half-smiling, as 
 though he had fallen asleep in the midst of a kiss. " Ah ! " 
 she murmured to herself, "he is slumbering like a child! 
 But how could he feel mistrust of me, of me who owes him 
 unspeakable happiness ? ' '
 
 362 THE CHOUANS. 
 
 She touched him gently, he awoke and smiled in earnest. 
 He kissed the hand that he held, and gazed at the unhappy 
 woman before him with such glowing eyes, that she could not 
 endure the passionate light in them, and slowly drooped her 
 heavy eyelids as if to shut out a spectacle fraught with peril 
 for her. But while she thus veiled the growing warmth of her 
 own eyes, she so provoked the desire to which she appeared to 
 refuse herself, that if she had not had a profound dread to 
 conceal, her husband might have reproached her with too 
 much coquetry. They both raised their charming heads at 
 the same moment, with a sign full of gratitude for the pleas- 
 ures that they had experienced. But after a moment's survey 
 of the exquisite picture presented by his wife's face, the 
 Marquis, thinking that Marie's brow was overshadowed by 
 some feeling of melancholy, said to her softly 
 
 " Why that shade of sadness, love?" 
 
 " Poor Alphonse, whither do you think I have brought 
 you ! " she asked, trembling. 
 
 " To happiness." 
 
 " Nay, to death." 
 
 Quivering with horror, she sprang out of bed, followed by 
 the astonished Marquis. His wife led him to the window. A 
 frenzied gesture escaped Marie as she drew back the curtains 
 and pointed to a score of soldiers in the square. The fog had 
 dispersed, and the white moonlight fell on their uniforms and 
 muskets, on the imperturbable Corentin, who came and went 
 like a jackal on the lookout for his prey, and on the com- 
 mandant, who stood there motionless with folded arms, with 
 his head thrown back, and his mouth pursed up, in an alert 
 and uneasy attitude. 
 
 " Let them be, Marie, and come back." 
 
 "Why do you laugh, Alphonse? It was / who posted 
 them there ! 
 
 " You are dreaming." 
 
 "Nay."
 
 A DAY WITHOUT A MORROW. 363 
 
 For a moment they looked at each other, and the Marquis 
 understood it all. He clasped her in his arms* " What of 
 that," he said ; "I love you forever." 
 
 " All is not lost, even now ! " cried Marie. " Alphonse ! " 
 she said, after a pause, " there is yet hope ! " 
 
 Just then they distinctly heard the stifled cry of a screech- 
 owl, and Fiancine suddenly entered from the dressing-room. 
 
 " Pierre is there ! " she cried, in almost frenzied joy. 
 
 The Marquise and Francine dressed Montauran in a 
 Chouan's costume with the marvelous quickness that women 
 alone possess. When Marie saw that her husband was busy 
 loading the firearms that Francine had brought for him, she 
 quickly slipped away, making a sign to her faithful Breton 
 maid. Francine led the Marquis into the adjoining dressing- 
 'room. At the sight of a number of sheets securely knotted 
 together, the young chief could appreciate the alert activity 
 with which the Breton girl had done her work, as she sought 
 to disappoint the watchfulness of the soldiers. 
 
 "I can never get through," the Marquis said, as he made 
 a survey of the narrow embrasure of the round window. But 
 the circular opening was just then blocked up by a great dark 
 countenance ; and the hoarse voice, that Francine knew so 
 well, cried softly 
 
 " Quick, general ! Those toads of Blues are on the move ! " 
 
 " Oh ! one more kiss," said a sweet and trembling voice. 
 
 Montauran's feet were set on the ladder by which he was to 
 escape, but he had not yet extricated himself from the win- 
 dow, and felt himself clasped in a desperate embrace. He 
 uttered a cry, for he saw that his wife had dressed herself in 
 his clothes, and tried to hold her fast, but she tore herself 
 hastily from his arms, and he was obliged to descend the 
 ladder. In his hand he kept a scrap of some woven material, 
 and a sudden gleam of moonlight showed him that it must be 
 a strip of the waistcoat that he had worn on the previous 
 evening.
 
 364 THE CI1O VANS. 
 
 " Halt ! Fire by platoons ! " 
 
 Hulot's words spoken broke the deep stillness that had 
 something hideous about it, and snapped the charm that 
 seemed hitherto to have prevailed over the place and the men 
 in it. The sound of a salvo of balls at the base of the 
 tower in the valley bottom followed hard upon the firing of 
 the Blues upon the promenade. Volley succeeded volley 
 without interruption; the Republicans kept up their fire, 
 mercilessly ; but no sound was uttered by the victims there 
 was a horrible silence between each discharge. 
 
 Corentin, however, shrewdly suspected some trap, for he 
 had heard one of the men, whom he had just pointed out to 
 the commandant, drop from his lofty position at the top of 
 the ladder. 
 
 " Not one of those animals makes a sound," he remarked 
 to Hulot. " Our pair of lovers are quite capable of keeping 
 us amused by some sort of trick, while they themselves are 
 perhaps escaping in another direction." 
 
 The spy, in his eagerness to obtain light on this mystery, 
 sent Galope-Chopine's child to find some torches. Hulot had 
 caught the drift of Corentin's suspicions so aptly that the old 
 soldier, who was preoccupied with the sounds of an obstinate 
 encounter that was taking place before the guard-house in St. 
 Leonard's gate, exclaimed, " True, there cannot be two of 
 them," and rushed off in that direction. 
 
 "We have given him a leaden shower-bath, commandant," 
 so Beau-Pied greeted his commandant, "but he has killed 
 Gudin, and wounded two more men. Ah ! the madman. 
 He had broken through three lines of our fellows, and would 
 have got away into the open country, if it had not been for 
 the sentry at St. Leonard's gate, who spitted him on his 
 bayonet." 
 
 The commandant hurried into the guard-house on hearing 
 this piece of news, and saw a blood-stained body stretched 
 out upon the camp-bed where it had just been laid. He
 
 A DAY WITHOUT A MORROW. 365 
 
 went up to the man whom he believed to be the Marquis, raised 
 the hat that covered his face, and dropped into a chair. 
 
 " I thought so," he cried vehemently, as he folded his 
 arms. " Sacre tonnerre ! she had kept him too long. " 
 
 The soldiers stood about motionless. The commandant's 
 movement had uncoiled a woman's long dark hair. 
 
 The silence was suddenly broken by the sounds of a crowd 
 of armed men. Corentin came into the guard-house, followed 
 by four men, who had made a kind of stretcher of their muskets, 
 upon which they were carrying Montauran, whose legs and 
 arms had been broken by many gunshots. They laid the Mar- 
 quis on the camp-bed beside his wife. He saw her, and found 
 strength sufficient to take her hand in a convulsive clasp. The 
 dying girl turned her head painfully, recognized her husband, 
 and a sudden spasm shook her that was terrible to see, as she 
 murmured in a nearly inaudible voice 
 
 " A day without a morrow ! God has heard me indeed ! " 
 
 " Commandant," said the Marquis, summoning all his 
 strength to speak, while he still held Marie's hand in his, 
 "I depend upon your loyalty to send word of my death to my 
 young brother in London. Write to him, and tell him that 
 if he would fain obey my last wishes, he will not bear arms 
 against France ; but he will never forsake the service of the 
 King." 
 
 "It shall be done," said Hulot, pressing the hand of the 
 dying man. 
 
 "Take them to the hospital nearby," cried Corentin. 
 
 Hulot grasped the spy by the arm in such a manner that he 
 left the marks of his nails in the flesh as he said to him 
 
 "Since your task here is ended, be off! And take a good 
 look at the face of Commandant Hulot, so that you may never 
 cross his path again, unless you have a mind to have his cut- 
 lass through your body." 
 
 The old soldier drew his sabre as he spoke. 
 
 " There is another of your honest folk who will never make
 
 366 THE CHOUANS. 
 
 their fortunes," said Corentin to himself, when he was well 
 away from the guard-house. 
 
 The Marquis was still able to thank his enemy by a move- 
 ment of the head, expressing a soldier's esteem for a generous 
 foe. 
 
 In 1827 an old man, accompanied by his wife, was bargain- 
 ing for cattle in the market of Fougeres. Nobody took any 
 special heed of him, though in his time he had killed more 
 than a hundred men. No one even reminded him of his 
 nickname of Marche-a-Terre. The person to whom valuable 
 information concerning the actors in this drama is owing saw 
 the man as he led a cow away ; there was that look of homely 
 simplicity about him which prompts the remark, "That is a 
 very honest fellow ! " 
 
 As for Cibot, otherwise called Pille-Miche, his end has been 
 witnessed already^ Perhaps Marche-a-Terre made a vain 
 attempt to rescue his comrade from the scaffold, and was 
 present in the market-place of Alencon at the terrific riot 
 that occurred during the famous trials of Rifoel, Bryond, and 
 La Chanterie.
 
 THE CONSCRIPT 
 
 (L ' Requisitionaire) . 
 
 [ The inner self~\ . . . by a phenomenon of vision 
 or of locomotion has been known at times to abolish 
 Space in its two modes of Time and Distance 
 the one intellectual, the other physical. 
 
 HISTORY OF Louis LAMBERT. 
 
 ON a November evening in the year 1793 the principal 
 citizens of Carentan were assembled in Mme. de Dey's draw- 
 ing-room. Mme. de Dey held this reception every night of 
 the week, but an unwonted interest attached to this even- 
 ing's gathering, owing to certain circumstances which would 
 have passed altogether unnoticed in a great city, though in a 
 small country town they excited the greatest curiosity. For 
 two days before Mme. de Dey had not been at home to her 
 visitors, and on the previous evening her door had been shut, 
 on the ground of indisposition. Two such events at any ordi- 
 nary time would have produced in Carentan the same sensa- 
 tion that Paris knows on nights when there is no performance 
 at the theatres existence is in some way incomplete; but in 
 those times when the least indiscretion on the part of an aris- 
 tocrat might be a matter of life and death, this conduct of 
 Mme. de Dey's was likely to bring about the most disastrous 
 consequences for her. Her position in Carentan ought to be 
 made clear, if the reader is to appreciate the expression of 
 keen curiosity and cunning fanaticism on the countenances 
 of these Norman citizens, and, what is of most importance, 
 
 (367)
 
 368 THE CONSCRIPT. 
 
 the part that the lady played among them. Many a one dur- 
 ing the days of the Revolution had doubtless passed through 
 a crisis as difficult as hers at that moment, and the sympathies 
 of more than one reader will fill in all the coloring of the 
 picture. 
 
 Mme. de Dey was the widow of a lieutenant-general, a 
 knight of the Orders of Saint Michael and of the Holy Ghost. 
 She had left the Court when the emigration began, and had 
 taken refuge in the neighborhood of Carentan, where she had 
 large estates, hoping that the influence of the Reign of Terror 
 would be but little felt there. Her calculations, based on a 
 thorough knowledge of the district, proved correct. The 
 Revolution made little disturbance in Lower Normandy. For- 
 merly, when Mme. de Dey had spent any time in the country, 
 her circle of acquaintance had been confined to the noble 
 families of the district; but now, from politic motives, she 
 opened her house to the principal citizens and to the Revolu- 
 tionary authorities of the town, endeavoring to touch and 
 gratify their social pride without arousing either hatred or 
 jealousy. Gracious and kindly, possessed of the indescribable 
 charm that wins good-will without loss of dignity or effort to 
 pay court to any, she had succeeded in gaining universal 
 esteem ; the discreet warnings of exquisite tact enabled her 
 to steer a difficult course among the exacting claims of this 
 mixed society, without wounding the overweening self-love 
 of parvenues on the one hand, or the susceptibilities of her 
 old friends on the other. In a word, Mme. de Dey com- 
 manded the respect of all circles of society. 
 
 She was about thirty-eight years of age, and still preserved, 
 not the fresh, high-colored beauty of the Basse-Normandes, 
 but a fragile loveliness of what may be called an aristocratic 
 type. Her figure was lissome and slender, her features deli- 
 cate and clearly cut ; the pale face seemed to light up and live 
 when she spoke ; but there was a quiet and devout look in 
 the great dark eyes, for all their graciousness of expression
 
 THE CONSCRIPT. 369 
 
 a look that seemed to say that the springs of her life lay 
 without her own existence. 
 
 In her early girlhood she had been married to an elderly 
 and jealous soldier. Her false position in the midst of a gay 
 Court had doubtless done something to bring a veil of sad- 
 ness over a face that must once have been bright with the 
 charms of quick-pulsed life and love. She had been com- 
 pelled to set constant restraint upon her frank impulses and 
 emotions at an age when a woman feels rather than thinks, 
 and the depths of passion in her heart had never been stirred. 
 In this lay the secret of her greatest charm, a youthfulness of 
 the inmost soul, betrayed at times by her face, and a certain 
 tinge of innocent wistfulness in her ideas. She was reserved 
 in her demeanor, but in her bearing and in the tones of her 
 voice there was still something that told of girlish longings 
 directed toward a vague future. Before very long the least sus- 
 ceptible fell in love with her, and yet stood somewhat in awe 
 of her dignity and high-bred manner. Her great soul, 
 strengthened by the cruel ordeals through which she had 
 passed, seemed to set her too far above the ordinary level, 
 and these men weighed themselves, and instinctively felt that 
 they were found wanting. Such a nature demanded an 
 exalted passion. 
 
 Moreover, Mme. de Dey's affections were concentrated in 
 one sentiment a mother's love for her son. All the happi- 
 ness and joy that she had not known as a wife, she had found 
 later in her boundless love for him. The coquetry of a mis- 
 tress, the jealousy of a wife mingled with the pure and deep 
 affection of a mother. She was miserable when they were 
 apart, and nervous about him while he was away ; she could 
 never see enough of him, and lived through and for him 
 alone. 
 
 Some idea of the strength of this tie may be conveyed 
 to the masculine understanding by stating that this was not 
 only Mme. de Dey's only son, but all she had of kith or kin 
 24
 
 370 THE CONSCRIPT. 
 
 in the world, the one human being on earth bound to her by 
 all the fears and hopes and joys of her life. 
 
 The late Comte de Dey was the last of his race, and she, 
 his wife, was the sole heiress and descendant of her house. 
 So worldly ambitions and family considerations, as well as the 
 noblest cravings of the soul, combined to heighten in the 
 Countess a sentiment that is strong in every woman's heart. 
 The child was all the dearer, because only with infinite care 
 had she succeeded in rearing him to man's estate ; medical 
 science had predicted his death a score of times, but she had 
 held fast to her presentiments and her hopes, and had known 
 the inexpressible joy of watching him pass safely through the 
 perils of infancy, of seeing his constitution strengthen in 
 spite of the decrees of the Faculty. 
 
 Thanks to her constant care, the boy had grown up and de- 
 veloped so favorably, that at twenty years of age he was re- 
 garded as one of the most accomplished gentlemen at the 
 Court of Versailles. One final happiness that does not always 
 crown a mother's efforts was hers her son worshipped her ; 
 and between these two there was the deep sympathy of kindred 
 souls. If they had not been bound to each other already by 
 a natural and sacred tie, they would instinctively have felt for 
 each other a friendship that is rarely met with between two 
 men. 
 
 At the age of eighteen, the young Count had received an 
 appointment as sub-lieutenant in a regiment of dragoons, and 
 had made it a point of honor to follow the emigrant Princes 
 into exile. 
 
 Then Mme. de Dey faced the dangers of her cruel position. 
 She was rich, noble, and the mother of an emigrant. With 
 the one desire to look after her son's great fortune, she had 
 denied herself the happiness of being with him ; and when 
 she read the rigorous laws in virtue of which the Republic 
 was daily confiscating the property of emigrants at Carentan, 
 she congratulated herself on the courageous course that she
 
 THE CONSCRIPT. 371 
 
 had taken. Was she not keeping watch over the wealth of 
 her son at the risk of her life? Later, when news came of 
 the horrible executions ordered by the Convention, she slept, 
 happy in the knowledge that her own treasure was in safety, 
 out of reach of peril, far from the scaffolds of the Revolu- 
 tion. She loved to think that she had followed the best 
 course, that she had saved her darling and her darling's for- 
 tunes ; and to this secret thought she made such concessions 
 as the misfortunes of the times demanded, without compromis- 
 ing her dignity or her aristocratic tenets, and enveloped her 
 sorrows in reserve and mystery. She had foreseen the difficul- 
 ties that would beset her at Carentan. Did she not tempt the 
 scaffold by the very fact of going thither to take a prominent 
 place ? Yet, sustained by a mother's courage, she succeeded 
 in winning the affection of the poor, ministering without dis- 
 tinction to every one in trouble ; and made herself necessary 
 to the well-to-do, by providing amusements for them. 
 
 The procureur of the commune might be seen at her house, 
 the mayor, the president of the district, and the public 
 prosecutor, and even the judges of the Revolutionary tribu- 
 nals went there. The four first-named gentlemen were none 
 of them married, and each paid court to her, in the hope that 
 Mme. de Dey would take him for her husband, either from 
 fear of making an enemy or from a desire to find a protector. 
 
 The public prosecutor, once an attorney at Caen, and the 
 Countess' man of business, did what he could to inspire love 
 by a system of devotion and generosity, a dangerous game of 
 cunning ! He was the most formidable of all her suitors. 
 He alone knew the amount of the large fortune of his some- 
 time client, and his fervor was inevitably increased by the 
 cupidity of greed, and by the consciousness that he wielded 
 an enormous power, the power of life and death in the dis- 
 trict. He was still a young man, and, owing to the generosity 
 of his behavior, Mme. de Dey was unable as yet to estimate 
 him truly. But, in despite of the danger of matching her-
 
 372 THE CO^ 7 SCRIPT. 
 
 self against Norman cunning, she used all the craft and 
 inventiveness that nature has bestowed on women to play off 
 the rival suitors one against another. She hoped, by gaining 
 time, to emerge safe and sound from her difficulties at last ; 
 for at that time Royalists in the provinces flattered themselves 
 with a hope, daily renewed, that the morrow would see the 
 end of the Revolution a conviction that proved fatal to 
 many of them. 
 
 In spite of difficulties, the Countess had maintained her 
 independence with considerable skill until the day, when, by 
 an inexplicable want of prudence, she took occasion to close 
 her salon. So deep and sincere was the interest that she 
 inspired, that those who usually filled her drawing-room felt 
 a lively anxiety when the news was spread; then, with the 
 frank curiosity characteristic of provincial manners, they went 
 to inquire into the misfortune, grief, or illness that had befallen 
 Mme. de Dey. 
 
 To all these questions, Brigitte, the housekeeper, answered 
 with the same formula : her mistress was keeping her room, 
 and would see no one, not even her own servants. The 
 almost claustral lives of dwellers in small towns fosters a 
 habit of analysis and conjectural explanation of the business 
 of everybody else ; so strong is it, that when every one had 
 exclaimed over poor Mme. de Dey (without knowing whether 
 the lady was overcome by joy or sorrow), each one began to 
 inquire into the causes of her sudden seclusion. 
 
 " If she were ill, she would have sent for the doctor," said 
 gossip number one ; now the doctor has been playing chess in 
 my house all day. He said to me, laughing, that in these 
 days there is only one disease, and that, unluckily, it is incur- 
 able." 
 
 The joke was hazarded discreetly. Women and men, 
 elderly folk and young girls forthwith betook themselves to 
 the vast fields of conjecture. Every one imagined that there 
 was some secret in it, and every head was busy with the secret.
 
 THE CONSCRIPT. 373 
 
 Next day the suspicions became malignant. Every one lives 
 in public in a small town, and the womenkind were the first 
 to find out that Brigitte had laid in an extra stock of provi- 
 sions. The thing could not be disputed. Brigitte had been 
 seen in the market-place betimes that morning, and, wonder- 
 ful to relate, she had bought the one hare to be had. The 
 whole town knew that Mme. de Dey did not care for game. 
 The hare became a starting-point for endless conjectures. 
 
 Elderly gentlemen, taking their constitutional, noticed a 
 sort of suppressed bustle in the Countess' house; the symptoms 
 were the more apparent because the servants were at evident 
 pains to conceal them. The manservant was beating a carpet 
 in the garden. Only yesterday no one would have remarked 
 the fact, but to-day everybody began to build romances upon 
 that harmless piece of household stuff. Every one had a 
 version. 
 
 On the following day, that on which Mme. de Dey gave 
 out that she was not well, the magnates of Carentan went to 
 spend the evening at the mayor's brother's house. He was a 
 retired merchant, a married man, a strictly honorable soul; 
 every one respected him, and the Countess held him in 
 high esteem. There all the rich widow's suitors were fain to 
 invent more or less probable fictions, each one thinking the 
 while how to turn to his own advantage the secret that com- 
 pelled her to compromise herself in such a manner. 
 
 The public prosecutor spun out a whole drama to bring 
 Mme. de Dey's son to her house of a night. The mayor had 
 a belief in a priest who had refused the oath, a refugee from 
 La Vendee ; but this left him not a little embarrassed how 
 to account for the purchase of a hare on a Friday. The 
 president of the district had strong leaning towards a Chouan 
 chief, or a Vendean leader hotly pursued. Others voted for 
 a noble escaped from the prisons of Paris. In short, one and 
 all suspected that the Countess had been guilty of some piece 
 of generosity that the law of those days defined as a crime,
 
 374 THE CONSCRIPT. 
 
 an offence that was likely to bring her to the scaffold. The 
 public prosecutor, moreover, said, in a low voice, that they 
 must hush the matter up, and try to save the unfortunate lady 
 from the abyss towards which she was hastening. 
 
 " If you spread reports about," he added, "I" shall be 
 obliged to take cognizance of the matter, and to search the 
 house, and then " 
 
 He said no more, but every one understood what was left 
 unsaid. 
 
 The Countess' real friends were so much alarmed for her, 
 that on the morning of the third day the Procureur Syndic of 
 the commune made his wife write a few lines to persuade 
 Mme. de Dey to hold her reception as usual that evening. 
 The old merchant took a bolder step. He called that morn- 
 ing upon the lady. Strong in the thought of the service he 
 meant to do her, he insisted that he must see Mme. de Dey, 
 and was amazed beyond expression to find her out in the 
 garden, busy gathering the last autumn flowers in her borders 
 to fill the vases. 
 
 "She has given refuge to her lover, no doubt," thought 
 the old man, struck with pity for the charming woman before 
 him. 
 
 The Countess' face wore a strange look, that confirmed his 
 suspicions. Deeply moved by the devotion so natural to 
 women, but that always touches us, because all men are flat- 
 tered by the sacrifices that any woman makes for any one of 
 them, the merchant told the Countess of the gossip that was 
 circulating in the town, and showed her the danger that she 
 was running. He wound up at last with saying that " if there 
 are some of our public functionaries who are sufficiently ready 
 to pardon a piece of heroism on your part so long as it is a 
 priest that you wish to save, no one will show you any mercy 
 if it is discovered that you are sacrificing yourself to the 
 dictates of your heart." 
 
 At these words Mme. de Dey gazed at her visitor with a
 
 THE CONSCRIPT. 375 
 
 wild excitement in her manner that made him tremble, old 
 though he was. 
 
 " Come in," she said, taking him by the hand to bring him 
 to her room, and as soon as she had assured herself that they 
 were alone, she drew a soiled, torn letter from her bodice. 
 " Read it ! " she cried, with a violent effort to pronounce the 
 words. 
 
 She dropped as if exhausted into her armchair. While the 
 old merchant looked for his spectacles and wiped them, she 
 raised her eyes, and for the first time looked at him with 
 curiosity; then, in an uncertain voice, " I trust in you," she 
 said softly. 
 
 "Why did I come but to share in your crime? " the old 
 merchant said simply. 
 
 She trembled. For the first time since she had come to 
 the little town her soul found sympathy in another soul. A 
 sudden light dawned meantime on the old merchant ; he 
 understood the Countess' joy and her prostration. 
 
 Her son had taken part in the Granville expedition ; he 
 wrote to his mother from his prison, and the letter brought 
 her a sad, sweet hope. Feeling no doubts as to his means of 
 escape, he wrote that within three days he was sure to reach 
 her, disguised. The same letter that brought these weighty 
 tidings was full of heartrending farewells in case the writer 
 should not be in Carentan by the evening of the third day, 
 and he implored his mother to send a considerable sum of 
 money by the bearer, who had gone through dangers innu- 
 merable to deliver it. The paper shook in the old man's 
 hands. 
 
 " And to-day is the third day ! " cried Mme. de Dey. She 
 sprang to her feet, took back the letter, and walked up and 
 down. 
 
 "You have set to work imprudently," the merchant re- 
 marked, addressing her. "Why did you buy provisions?" 
 he asked her.
 
 376 THE CONSCRIPT. 
 
 " Why, he may come in dying of hunger, worn out with 
 fatigue, and " She broke off. 
 
 "I am sure of my brother," the old merchant went on; 
 " I will engage him in your interests." 
 
 The merchant in this crisis recovered his old business 
 shrewdness, and the advice that he gave Mine, de Dey was 
 full of prudence and wisdom. After the two had agreed 
 together as to what they were to do and say, the old merchant 
 went on various ingenious pretexts to pay visits to the prin- 
 cipal houses of Carentan, announcing wherever he went that 
 he had just been to see Mme. de Dey, and that, in spite of 
 her indisposition, she would receive that evening. Matching 
 his shrewdness against Norman wits in the cross-examination 
 he underwent in every family as to the Countess' complaint, 
 he succeeded in putting almost every one who took an inter- 
 est in the mysterious affair upon the wrong scent. 
 
 His very first call worked wonders. He told, in the hear- 
 ing of a gouty old lady, how that Mme. de Dey had all but 
 died of an attack of gout in the stomach ; how that the illus- 
 trious Tronchin had recommended her in such a case to put 
 the skin from a live hare on her chest, to stop in bed, and 
 keep perfectly still. The Countess, he said, had lain in 
 danger of her life for the past two days; but after carefully 
 following out Tronchin's singular prescription, she was now 
 sufficiently recovered to receive visitors that evening. 
 
 This tale had an immense success in Carentan. The local 
 
 
 
 doctor, a Royalist in petto, added to its effect by gravely dis- 
 cussing the specific. Suspicion, nevertheless, had taken too 
 deep root in a few perverse or philosophical minds to be 
 entirely dissipated ; so it fell out that those who had the right 
 of entry into Mme. de Dey's drawing-room hurried thither at 
 an early hour, some to watch her face, some out of friend- 
 ship, but the greater part attracted by the fame of the mar- 
 velous cure. 
 
 They found the Countess seated in a corner of the great
 
 THE CONSCRTPT. 377 
 
 chimney-piece in her room, which was almost as modestly fur- 
 nished as similar apartments in Carentan ; for she had given 
 up the enjoyment of luxuries to which she had formerly been 
 accustomed, for fear of offending the narrow prejudices of her 
 guests, and she had made no changes in her house. The floor 
 was not even polished. She had left the old sombre hangings 
 on the walls, had kept the old-fashioned country furniture, 
 burned tallow candles, had fallen in with the ways of the 
 place and adopted provincial life without flinching before its 
 cast-iron narrowness, its most disagreeable hardships ; but 
 knowing that her guests would forgive her for any prodi- 
 gality that conduced to their comfort, she left nothing undone 
 where their personal enjoyment was concerned ; her dinners, 
 for instance, were excellent. She even went so far as to affect 
 avarice to recommend herself to these sordid natures ; and 
 had the ingenuity to make it appear that certain concessions 
 to luxury had been made at the instance of others, to whom 
 she had graciously yielded. 
 
 Towards seven o'clock that evening, therefore, the nearest 
 approach to polite society that Carentan could boast was 
 assembled in Mme. de Dey's drawing-room, in a wide circle, 
 about the fire. The old merchant's sympathetic glances sus- 
 tained the mistress of the house through this ordeal ; with 
 wonderful strength of mind, she underwent the curious 
 scrutiny of her guests, and bore with their trivial prosings. 
 Every time there was a knock at the door, at every sound of 
 footsteps in the street, she hid her agitation by raising ques- 
 tions of absorbing interest to the countryside. She led the 
 conversation on to the burning topic of the quality of various 
 ciders, and was so well seconded by her friend who shared her 
 secret, that her guests almost forgot to watch her, and her 
 face wore its wonted look; her self-possession was unshaken. 
 The public prosecutor and one of the judges of the Revolu- 
 tionary Tribunal kept silence, however ; noting the slightest 
 change that flickered over her features, listening through the
 
 378 THE CONSCRIPT. 
 
 noisy talk to every sound in the house. Several times they 
 put awkward questions, which the Countess answered with 
 wonderful presence of mind. So brave is a mother's heart ! 
 
 Mme. de Dey had drawn her visitors into little groups, had 
 made parties of whist, boston, or reversis, and sat talking 
 with some of the young people; she seemed to be living com- 
 pletely in the present moment, and played her part like a 
 consummate actress. She elicited a suggestion of loto, and 
 saying that no one else knew where to find the game, she left 
 the room. 
 
 " My good Brigitte, I cannot breathe down there !" she 
 cried, brushing away the tears that sprang to her eyes that 
 glittered with fever, sorrow, and impatience. She had gone 
 up to her son's room, and was looking round it. " He does 
 not come," she said. " Here I can breathe and live. A few 
 minutes more, and he will be here, for he is alive, I am sure 
 that he is alive ! My heart tells me so. Do you hear noth- 
 ing, Brigitte? Oh ! I would give the rest of my life to know 
 whether he is still in prison or tramping across the country. 
 I would rather not think." 
 
 Once more she looked to see that everything was in order. 
 A bright fire blazed on the hearth, the shutters were care- 
 fully closed, the furniture shone with cleanliness, the bed had 
 been made after a fashion that showed that Brigitte and the 
 Countess had given their minds to every trifling detail. It 
 was impossible not to read her hopes in the dainty and 
 thoughtful preparations about the room ; love and a mother's 
 tenderest caresses seemed to pervade the air in the scent of 
 flowers. None but a mother could have foreseen the require- 
 ments of a soldier and arranged so completely for their 
 satisfaction. A dainty meal, the best of wine, clean linen, 
 slippers no requisite, no comfort, was lacking for the weary 
 traveler, and all the delights of home heaped upon him should 
 reveal his mother's love. 
 
 " Oh, Brigitte ! ' cried the Countess, with a heart-
 
 THE CONSCRIPT. 379 
 
 rending inflexion in her voice. She drew a chair to the table 
 as if to strengthen her illusions and realize her longings. 
 
 "Ah! madame, he is coming. He is not far off. 1 
 
 haven't a doubt that he is living and on his way," Brigitte 
 answered. "I put a key in the Bible and held it on my 
 fingers while Cottin read the Gospel of St. John, and the 
 key did not turn, madame." 
 
 " Is that a certain sign ? " the Countess asked. 
 
 "Why, yes, madame ! everybody knows that. He is still 
 alive : I would stake my salvation on it ; God cannot be mis- 
 taken." 
 
 "If only I could see him here in the house, in spite of 
 the danger." 
 
 " Poor Monsieur Auguste ! " cried Brigitte ; " I expect he 
 is tramping along the lanes ! " 
 
 "And that is eight o'clock striking now!" cried the 
 Countess in terror. 
 
 She was afraid that she had been too long in the room 
 where she felt sure that her son was alive ; all those prepara- 
 tions made for him meant that he was alive. She went down, 
 but she lingered a moment in the peristyle for any sound that 
 might waken the sleeping echoes of the town. She smiled 
 at Brigitte's husband, who was standing there on guard; the 
 man's eyes looked stupid with the strain of listening to the 
 faint sounds of the night. She stared into the darkness, 
 seeing her son in every shadow everywhere ; but it was only 
 for a moment. Then she went back to the drawing-room 
 with an assumption of high spirits, and began to play at loto 
 with the little girls. But from time to time she complained 
 of feeling unwell, and went to sit in her great chair by the 
 fireside. So things went on in Mme. de Dey's house and in 
 the minds of those beneath her roof. 
 
 Meanwhile, on the road from Paris to Cherbourg, a young 
 man, dressed in the inevitable brown carmagnole of those 
 days, was plodding his way towards Carentan. When the
 
 380 THE CONSCRIPT. 
 
 first levies were made, there was little or no discipline kept 
 up. The exigencies of the moment scarcely admitted of 
 soldiers being equipped at once, and it was no uncommon 
 thing to see the roads thronged with conscripts in their 
 ordinary clothes. The young fellows went ahead of their 
 company to the next halting-place, or lagged behind it ; it 
 depended upon their fitness to bear the fatigues of a long 
 march. This particular wayfarer was some considerable dis- 
 tance in advance of a company of conscripts on their way to 
 Cherbourg, whom the mayor was expecting to arrive every 
 hour, for it was his duty to distribute their billets. The 
 young man's footsteps were still firm as he trudged along, and 
 his bearing seemed to indicate that he was no stranger to 
 the rough life of a soldier. The moon shone on the pasture- 
 land about Carentan, but he had noticed great masses of white 
 clouds that were about to scatter showers of snow over the 
 country, and doubtless the fear of being overtaken by a storm 
 had quickened his pace in spite of his weariness. 
 
 The wallet on his back was almost empty, and he carried a 
 stick in his hand, cut from one of the high, thick box-hedges 
 that surround most of the farms in Lower Normandy. As 
 the solitary wayfarer came into Carentan, the gleaming 
 moonlit outlines of its towers stood out for a moment with 
 ghostly effect against the sky. He met no one in the silent 
 streets that rang with the echoes of his own footsteps, and 
 was obliged to ask the way to the mayor's house of a weaver 
 who was working late. The magistrate was not far to seek, 
 and in a few minutes the conscript was sitting on a stone 
 bench on the mayor's porch waiting for his billet. He was 
 sent for, however, and confronted with that functionary, who 
 scrutinized him closely. The foot-soldier was a good-looking 
 young man, who appeared to be of gentle birth. There was 
 something aristocratic in his bearing and signs in his face of 
 intelligence developed by a good education. These apparent 
 traits gave rise to suspicion.
 
 THE CONSCRIPT. 381 
 
 "What is your name?" asked the mayor, eyeing him 
 shrewdly. 
 
 " Julien Jussieu," answered the conscript. 
 
 "From? " queried the official, and an incredulous 
 
 smile stole over his features. 
 
 " From Paris." 
 
 " Your comrades must be a good way behind? " remarked 
 the Norman in sarcastic tones. 
 
 " I am three leagues ahead of the battalion." 
 
 " Some sentiment attracts you to Carentan, of course, 
 citizen conscript," said the mayor astutely. "All right, all 
 right ! " he added, with a wave of the hand, seeing that the 
 young man was about to speak. " We know where to send 
 you. There, off with you, Citizen Jussieu" and he handed 
 over the billet. 
 
 There was a tinge of irony in the stress the magistrate laid 
 on the two last words while he held out a billet on Mme. de 
 Dey. The conscript read the direction curiously. 
 
 " He knows quite well that he has not far to go, and when 
 he gets outside he will very soon cross the market-place," said 
 the mayor to himself, as the other went out. " He is uncom- 
 monly bold ! God guide him ! He has an answer ready 
 
 for everything. Yes, but if somebody else had asked to see his 
 papers it would have been all up with him ! " 
 
 The clocks in Carentan struck half-past nine as he spoke. 
 Lanterns were being lit in Mme. de Dey's ante-chamber, ser- 
 vants were helping their masters and mistresses into sabots, 
 greatcoats, and calashes. The card-players settled their 
 accounts, and everybody went out together, after the fashion 
 of all little country towns. 
 
 " It looks as if the prosecutor meant to stop," said a lady, 
 who noticed that that important personage was not in the 
 group in the market-place, where they all took leave of one 
 another before going their separate ways home. And, as a 
 matter of fact, that redoubtable functionary was alone with
 
 382 THE CONSCRIPT. 
 
 the Countess, who waited tremblingly till he should go. There 
 was something appalling in their long silence. 
 
 "Citoyenne," said he at last, "I am here to see that the 
 laws of the Republic are carried out " 
 
 Mme. de Dey shuddered. 
 
 " Have you nothing to tell me ? " 
 
 " Nothing ! " she answered, in amazement. 
 
 "Ah! madame," cried the prosecutor, sitting down be- 
 side her and changing his tone. "At this moment, for lack 
 of a word, one of us you or I may carry our heads to the 
 scaffold. I have watched your character, your soul, your 
 manner, too closely to share the error into which you have 
 managed to lead your visitors to-night. You are expecting 
 your son, I could not doubt it." 
 
 The Countess made an involuntary sign of denial, but her 
 face had grown white and drawn with the struggle to maintain 
 the composure that she did not feel, and no tremor was lost 
 on the merciless prosecutor. 
 
 "Very well," the Revolutionary official went on, "receive 
 him ; but do not let him stay under your roof after seven 
 o'clock to-morrow morning; for to-morrow, as soon as it is 
 light, I shall come with a denunciation that I will have made 
 out, and " 
 
 She looked at him, and the dull misery in her eyes would 
 have softened a tiger. 
 
 "I will make it clear that the denunciation was false by 
 making a thorough search," hewent on in a gentle voice ; " my 
 report shall be such that you will be safe from any subsequent 
 suspicion. I shall make mention of your patriotic gifts, your 
 civism, and all of us will be safe." 
 
 Mme. de Dey, fearful of a trap, sat motionless, her face 
 afire, her tongue frozen. A knock at the door rang through 
 the house. 
 
 "Oh! " cried the terrified mother, falling upon her 
 
 knees ; " save him ! save him ! "
 
 THE CONSCRIPT. 383 
 
 "Yes, let us save him ! " returned the public prosecutor, 
 and his eyes grew bright as he looked at her, "if it costs us 
 our lives! " 
 
 " Lost 1 " she wailed. The prosecutor raised her politely. 
 
 "Madame," said he with a flourish of eloquence, "to 
 your own free will alone would I owe " 
 
 " Madame, he is ' cried Brigitte, thinking that her 
 
 mistress was alone. At the sight of the public prosecutor, 
 the old servant's joy-flushed countenance became haggard and 
 impassive. 
 
 " Who is it, Brigitte?" the prosecutor asked kindly, as if 
 he too were in the secret of the household. 
 
 "A conscript that the mayor has sent here for a night's 
 lodging," the woman replied, holding out the billet. 
 
 " So it is," said the prosecutor, when he had read the slip 
 of paper. "A battalion is coming here to-night." 
 
 And he went. 
 
 The Countess' need to believe in the faith of her sometime 
 attorney was so great, that she dared not entertain any suspi- 
 cion of him. She fled upstairs ; she felt scarcely strength 
 enough to stand ; she opened the door, and sprang, half-dead 
 with fear, into her son's arms. 
 
 " Oh ! my child! my child ! " she sobbed, covering him 
 with almost frenzied kisses. 
 
 " Madame ! " said a stranger's voice. 
 
 "Oh ! it is not he ! " she cried, shrinking away in terror, 
 and she stood face to face with the conscript, gazing at him 
 with haggard eyes. 
 
 " Oh saint bon Dieu .' how like he is ! " cried Brigitte. 
 
 There was silence for a moment ; even the stranger trembled 
 at the sight of Mme. de Dey's face. 
 
 " Ah ! monsieur," she said, leaning on the arm of Brigitte's 
 husband, feeling for the first time the full extent of a sorrow 
 that had all but killed her at its first threatening ; " ah ! mon- 
 sieur, I cannot stay to see you any longer. Permit my servants
 
 384 THE CONSCRIPT. 
 
 to supply my place, and to see that you have all that you 
 want." 
 
 She went down to her own room, Brigitte and the old ser- 
 ving-man half-carrying her between them. The housekeeper 
 set her mistress in a chair, and broke out 
 
 " What, madame ! is that man to sleep in Monsieur Au- 
 guste's bed, and wear Monsieur Auguste's slippers, and eat 
 the pastry that I made for Monsieur Auguste? Why, if they 
 were to guillotine me for it, I " 
 
 " Brigitte ! " cried Mine, de Dey. 
 
 Brigitte said no more. 
 
 "Hold your tongue, chatterbox," said her husband, in a 
 low voice ; "do you want to kill madame ? " 
 
 A sound came from the conscript's room as he drew his 
 chair to the table. 
 
 " I shall not stay here," cried Mme. de Dey; " I shall go 
 into the conservatory ; I shall hear better there if any one 
 passes in the night." 
 
 She still wavered between the fear that she had lost her son 
 and the hope of seeing him once more. That night was hid- 
 eously silent. Once, for the Countess, there was an awful 
 interval, when the battalion of conscripts entered the town, 
 and the men went by, one by one, to their lodgings. Every 
 footfall, every sound in the street, raised hopes to be disap- 
 pointed ; but it was not for long, the dreadful quiet succeeded 
 again. Towards morning the Countess was forced to return 
 to her room. Brigitte, ever keeping watch over her mistress' 
 movements, did not see her come out again ; and when she 
 went in she found the Countess lying there dead. 
 
 " I expect she heard that conscript," cried Brigitte, " walk- 
 ing about Monsieur Auguste's room, whistling that accursed 
 ' Marseillaise ' of theirs while he dressed, as if he had been in 
 a stable ! That must have killed her." 
 
 But it was a deeper and a more solemn emotion, and doubt- 
 less some dreadful vision, that had caused Mme. de Dey's
 
 THE CONSCRIPT. 
 
 38o 
 
 death ; for at the very hour when she died at Carentan, her 
 son was shot in le Morbihan. 
 
 This tragical story may be added to all the instances on 
 record of the workings of sympathies uncontrolled by the laws 
 of time and space. These observations, collected with scien- 
 tific curiosity by a few isolated individuals, will one day serve 
 as documents on which to base the foundations of a new 
 science which hitherto has lacked its man of genius. 
 
 PARIS, February, 1831. 
 
 25
 
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