aided his companion to alight, and a respectful murmur arose.
"It is the Abbé 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 Abbé 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-à-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? And we have stronger reasons for despoiling these revolutionaries, who deny God, plunder churches, and persecute religion!" Thereupon the Abbé added example to precept, and took without scruple the tenth—in new coin—which Marche-à-Terre offered him.
"However," he added, "I can now dedicate all I have to 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-à-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-à-Terre. He made a sign, and a volley of musketry riddled the turgotine.
