"But the others?"
"I'll bet my general's epaulets against those of a sub-lieutenant that the others were put in my way by some shrewd fellows who saw and suspected our talk with the man about his biscuit. Let us begin the hunt, my dear sub-prefect, and confine our attention to Souday, if we don't want to make an utter failure of it."
"Bravo!" cried the sub-prefect. "I feared I had committed a blunder; but what you say reassures me."
"What have you done?"
"Well, I have got the name of this mayor. He is called Courtin, and is mayor of the village of la Logerie."
"I know that. It is close by the spot where we came near capturing Charette thirty-seven years ago."
"Well, this man has pointed out to me an individual who could serve us as guide, and whom it would be well to arrest so that he may not go back to the château and give the alarm."
"Who is the man?"
"The marquis's steward. Here is a description of him."
The general took the paper and read: -
"Short gray hair, low forehead, keen black eyes, bushy eyebrows, wart on his nose, hair in the nostrils, whiskers round the face, round hat, velveteen jacket, waistcoat and breeches the same, leathern belt and gaiters. Special points: a brown, retriever, and the second incisor on the left side broken."
"Good!" said the general; "that's my oat-seller to a tee. Terrien! His name is no more Terrien than mine's Barabbas."
"Well, general, you can soon make sure of that."
"How so?"
"He'll be here in a minute."
"Here?"
"Yes."
"Is he coming here?"
"He is coming here."
"Of his own will?"
"His own will, or by force."
"Force?"
"Yes; I have just given the order to arrest him. It is done by this time."
"Ten thousand thunders!" cried the general, letting his fist fall upon the table with such a thud that the public functionary bounded in his chair. "Ten thousand thunders!" he cried again; "what have you done?"
"He seems to me, general, a dangerous man from all I hear of him, and there was but one thing to do, – namely, arrest him."
"Dangerous! dangerous! He is much more dangerous now than he was ten minutes ago."
"But if he is in custody he can't do harm."
"No matter how quick your men are they won't prevent his giving warning. The princess will be warned before we have gone a couple of miles. It will be lucky for us if you haven't roused the whole population so that I cannot take a single man from the garrison."
"Perhaps there's yet time," said the sub-prefect, rushing to the door.
"Yes, make haste. Ah! thunder! it's too late!"
A dull roar was heard without, deepening every second until it reached the volume of that dreadful concert of sounds made by a multitude as the prelude to a battle.
The general opened the window. He saw, at a short distance from the inn, Jean Oullier, bound and in the grasp of gendarmes who were bringing him along. The crowd surrounded them, howling and threatening. The gendarmes came on slowly and with difficulty. They had not as yet made use of their arms. There was not a moment to lose.
"Well, the wine is drawn; we have got to drink it," said the general, pulling off his civilian clothes, and hastily getting into his regimentals. Then he called to his secretary.
"Rusconi, my horse! my horse!" he shouted. "As for you, Monsieur le sous-préfet, call out your militia, if you have any; but not a gun is to be fired without my orders."
A captain, sent by the secretary, entered the room.
"Captain," said the general, "bring your men into the courtyard. Order my chasseurs to mount; two days' rations, and twenty-five cartridges to each man; and hold yourself ready to follow me at the first signal I give you."
The old general, recovering all the fire of his youth, went down into the courtyard, where, sending the civilians to the right-about, he ordered the gates into the street to be opened.
"What!" cried the sub-prefect, "you are surely not going to present yourself to that furious crowd all alone?"
"That's precisely what I am going to do. Damn it! your men must be supported. This is no time for sentiment. Open that gate."
The two sides of the gate were no sooner opened than the general, setting spurs to his horse, was instantly in the middle of the street and the thick of the mêlée. This sudden apparition of an old soldier, with a determined face and martial bearing, in full uniform, and glittering with decorations, together with the bold promptitude of his action, produced an electric effect upon the crowd. The clamoring ceased as if by magic. Cudgels were lowered; the peasants who were nearest to the general actually touched their hats; the crowd made way, and the soldier of Rivoli and the Pyramids rode on some twenty paces in the direction of the gendarmes.
"Why, what's the matter with you, my gars?" he cried, in so stentorian a voice that he was heard even to the neighboring streets.
"They've arrested Jean Oullier; that's what's the matter with us," replied a voice.
"And Jean Oullier is a good man," shouted another.
"They ought to arrest bad men, and not good ones," said a third.
"And that's why we are not going to let them take Jean Oullier," cried a fourth.
"Silence!" said the general, in so imperious a tone that every voice was hushed. "If Jean Oullier is a good man, a worthy man, – which I do not doubt, – Jean Oullier will be released. If he is one who is trying to deceive you and take advantage of your good and loyal feelings, Jean Oullier will be punished. Do you think it unjust to punish those who try to plunge the country back into those horrors of civil war of which the old now tell the young with tears?"
"Jean Oullier is a peaceable man, and doesn't do harm to any one," said a voice.
"What are you wanting now?" continued the general, without noticing the interruption. "Your priests are respected; your religion is ours. Have we killed the king, as in 1793? Have we abolished God, as in 1794? Is your property in danger? No; you and your property are safe under the common law. Never were your trades and your commerce so flourishing."
"That is true," said a young peasant.
"Don't listen to bad Frenchmen who, to satisfy their selfish passions, do not shrink from calling down upon their country all the horrors of civil war. Can't you remember what those horrors were? Must I remind you of them? Must I bring to mind your old men, your mothers, your wives, your children massacred before your eyes, your harvests trampled under foot, your cottages in flames, death and ruin at every hearth!"
"It was the Blues who did it all," cried a voice.
"No, it was not the Blues," continued the general. "It was those who drove you to that senseless struggle, senseless then, but wicked now, – a struggle which had at least a pretext then, but has none whatever in these days."
While speaking the general pushed his horse in the direction of the gendarmes, who, on their side, made every effort to reach the general. This was all the more possible because his address, soldierly as it was, made an evident impression on some of the peasants. Many lowered their heads and were silent; others made remarks to their neighbors, which seemed from their manner to imply approval.
Nevertheless, the farther the general advanced into the crowd, the less favorable grew the expression of the faces. In fact, the nearest to him were altogether menacing; and the owners of these faces were evidently the promoters and the leaders of the uproar, – probably the chiefs of the various bands and what were called the captains of parishes.
For