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 clear 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 government 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?"
"Your country-house at Fougères is not very far from the farm at 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-à-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 Mène-à-Bien."
With that the two Chouans departed. The traveler returned to the coach, and, with the help of Coupiau's whip, they bowled rapidly along to Fougères.
"If you had carried arms," Coupiau began, "we might have defended ourselves better."
