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 hundred crowns. His voluminous goatskin 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 curé; "and besides that, do we look as if we wanted your money?"
Each time the word money was mentioned the driver became silent. The recteur'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 anything 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——"
"Are you a patriot or a Chouan?" interrupted his adversary 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.
