"Your reverence is quite right."
"Ah, ha!" the lady exclaimed, "so Fouché 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 Pèlerine, Pille-Miche and Marche-à-Terre had again stopped the coach in a place where the road widened out. Coupiau, after a feeble resistance, 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-à-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-à-Terre deliberately uttered this terrible ultimatum:
"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 Fougères."
"Ha!" cried the two Chouans.
"I 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 Fougères," replied Marche-à-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
