To understand this scene, so fatal to poor Merle, we must follow Mademoiselle de Verneuil after the marquis, in his fury and despair, had abandoned her to Pille-Miche.Francine had caught Marche-a-Terre by the arm and reminded him, with sobs, of the promise he had made her.Pille-Miche was already dragging away his victim like a heavy bundle.Marie, her head and hair hanging back, turned her eyes to the lake; but held as she was in a grasp of iron she was forced to follow the Chouan, who turned now and then to hasten her steps, and each time that he did so a jovial thought brought a hideous smile upon his face.
"Isn't she a morsel!" he cried, with a coarse laugh.
Hearing the words, Francine recovered speech.
"Pierre?"
"Well, what?"
"He'll kill her."
"Not at once."
"Then she'll kill herself, she will never submit; and if she dies Ishall die too."
"Then you love her too much, and she shall die," said Marche-a-Terre.
"Pierre! if we are rich and happy we owe it all to her; but, whether or no, you promised me to save her.""Well, I'll try; but you must stay here, and don't move."Francine at once let go his arm, and waited in horrible suspense in the courtyard where Merle found her.Meantime Marche-a-Terre joined his comrade at the moment when the latter, after dragging his victim to the barn, was compelling her to get into the coach.Pille-Miche called to him to help in pulling out the vehicle.
"What are you going to do with all that?" asked Marche-a-Terre.
"The Grande Garce gave me the woman, and all that belongs to her is mine.""The coach will put a sou or two in your pocket; but as for the woman, she'll scratch your eyes out like a cat."Pille-Miche burst into a roar of laughter.
"Then I'll tie her up and take her home," he answered.
"Very good; suppose we harness the horses," said Marche-a-Terre.
A few moments later Marche-a-Terre, who had left his comrade mounting guard over his prey, led the coach from the stable to the causeway, where Pille-Miche got into it beside Mademoiselle de Verneuil, not perceiving that she was on the point of making a spring into the lake.
"I say, Pille-Miche!" cried Marche-a-Terre.
"What!"
"I'll buy all your booty."
"Are you joking?" asked the other, catching his prisoner by the petticoat, as a butcher catches a calf that is trying to escape him.
"Let me see her, and I'll set a price."
The unfortunate creature was made to leave the coach and stand between the two Chouans, who each held a hand and looked at her as the Elders must have looked at Susannah.
"Will you take thirty francs in good coin?" said Marche-a-Terre, with a groan.
"Really?"
"Done?" said Marche-a-Terre, holding out his hand.
"Yes, done; I can get plenty of Breton girls for that, and choice morsels, too.But the coach; whose is that?" asked Pille-Miche, beginning to reflect upon his bargain.
"Mine!" cried Marche-a-Terre, in a terrible tone of voice, which showed the sort of superiority his ferocious character gave him over his companions.
"But suppose there's money in the coach?""Didn't you say, 'Done'?"
"Yes, I said, 'Done.'"
"Very good; then go and fetch the postilion who is gagged in the stable over there.""But if there's money in the--"
"Is there any?" asked Marche-a-Terre, roughly, shaking Marie by the arm.
"Yes, about a hundred crowns."
The two Chouans looked at each other.
"Well, well, friend," said Pille-Miche, "we won't quarrel for a female Blue; let's pitch her into the lake with a stone around her neck, and divide the money.""I'll give you that money as my share in d'Orgemont's ransom," said Marche-a-Terre, smothering a groan, caused by such sacrifice.
Pille-Miche uttered a sort of hoarse cry as he started to find the postilion, and his glee brought death to Merle, whom he met on his way.
Hearing the shot, Marche-a-Terre rushed in the direction where he had left Francine, and found her praying on her knees, with clasped hands, beside the poor captain, whose murder had deeply horrified her.
"Run to your mistress," said the Chouan; "she is saved."He ran himself to fetch the postilion, returning with all speed, and, as he repassed Merle's body, he noticed the Gars' glove, which was still convulsively clasped in the dead hand.
"Oho!" he cried."Pille-Miche has blundered horribly--he won't live to spend his crowns."He snatched up the glove and said to Mademoiselle de Verneuil, who was already in the coach with Francine: "Here, take this glove.If any of our men attack you on the road, call out 'Ho, the Gars!' show the glove, and no harm can happen to you.Francine," he said, turning towards her and seizing her violently, "you and I are quits with that woman; come with me and let the devil have her.""You can't ask me to abandon her just at this moment!" cried Francine, in distress.
Marche-a-Terre scratched his ear and forehead, then he raised his head, and his mistress saw the ferocious expression of his eyes."You are right," he said; "I leave you with her one week; if at the end of that time you don't come with me--" he did not finish the sentence, but he slapped the muzzle of his gun with the flat of his hand.After making the gesture of taking aim at her, he disappeared, without waiting for her reply.
No sooner was he gone than a voice, which seemed to issue from the lake, called, in a muffled tone: "Madame, madame!"The postilion and the two women shuddered, for several corpses were floating near them.A Blue, hidden behind a tree, cautiously appeared.
"Let me get up behind the coach, or I'm a dead man.That damned cider which Clef-des-Coeurs would stop to drink cost more than a pint of blood.If he had done as I did, and made his round, our poor comrades there wouldn't be floating dead in the pond."*****
