The peasants advanced one by one and knelt down, presenting their guns to the preacher, who laid them upon the altar.Galope-Chopine offered his old duck-shooter.The three priests sang the hymn "Veni, Creator,"while the celebrant wrapped the instruments of death in bluish clouds of incense, waving the smoke into shapes that appeared to interlace one another.When the breeze had dispersed the vapor the guns were returned in due order.Each man received his own on his knees from the hands of the priests, who recited a Latin prayer as they returned them.After the men had regained their places, the profound enthusiasm of the congregation, mute till then, broke forth and resounded in a formidable manner.
"/Domine salvum fac regem/!" was the prayer which the preacher intoned in an echoing voice, and was then sung vehemently by the people.The cry had something savage and warlike in it.The two notes of the word /regem/, readily interpreted by the peasants, were taken with such energy that Mademoiselle de Verneuil's thoughts reverted almost tenderly to the exiled Bourbon family.These recollections awakened those of her past life.Her memory revived the fetes of a court now dispersed, in which she had once a share.The face of the marquis entered her reverie.With the natural mobility of a woman's mind she forgot the scene before her and reverted to her plans of vengeance, which might cost her her life or come to nought under the influence of a look.Seeing a branch of holly the trivial thought crossed her mind that in this decisive moment, when she wished to appear in all her beauty at the ball, she had no decoration for her hair; and she gathered a tuft of the prickly leaves and shining berries with the idea of wearing them.
"Ho! ho! my gun may miss fire on a duck, but on a Blue, never!" cried Galope-Chopine, nodding his head in sign of satisfaction.
Marie examined her guide's face attentively, and found it of the type of those she had just seen.The old Chouan had evidently no more ideas than a child.A naive joy wrinkled his cheeks and forehead as he looked at his gun; but a pious conviction cast upon that expression of his joy a tinge of fanaticism, which brought into his face for an instant the signs of the vices of civilization.
Presently they reached a village, or rather a collection of huts like that of Galope-Chopine, where the rest of the congregation arrived before Mademoiselle de Verneuil had finished the milk and bread and butter which formed the meal.This irregular company was led by the abbe, who held in his hand a rough cross draped with a flag, followed by a gars, who was proudly carrying the parish banner.Mademoiselle de Verneuil was compelled to mingle with this detachment, which was on its way, like herself, to Saint-James, and would naturally protect her from all danger as soon as Galope-Chopine informed them that the Gars glove was in her possession, provided always that the abbe did not see her.
Towards sunset the three travellers arrived safely at Saint-James, a little town which owes its name to the English, by whom it was built in the fourteenth century, during their occupation of Brittany.Before entering it Mademoiselle de Verneuil was witness of a strange scene of this strange war, to which, however, she gave little attention; she feared to be recognized by some of her enemies, and this dread hastened her steps.Five or six thousand peasants were camping in a field.Their clothing was not in any degree warlike; in fact, this tumultuous assembly resembled that of a great fair.Some attention was needed to even observe that these Bretons were armed, for their goatskins were so made as to hide their guns, and the weapons that were chiefly visible were the scythes with which some of the men had armed themselves while awaiting the distribution of muskets.Some were eating and drinking, others were fighting and quarrelling in loud tones, but the greater part were sleeping on the ground.An officer in a red uniform attracted Mademoiselle de Verneuil's attention, and she supposed him to belong to the English service.At a little distance two other officers seemed to be trying to teach a few Chouans, more intelligent than the rest, to handle two cannon, which apparently formed the whole artillery of the royalist army.Shouts hailed the coming of the gars of Marignay, who were recognized by their banner.
Under cover of the tumult which the new-comers and the priests excited in the camp, Mademoiselle de Verneuil was able to make her way past it and into the town without danger.She stopped at a plain-looking inn not far from the building where the ball was to be given.The town was so full of strangers that she could only obtain one miserable room.
When she was safely in it Galope-Chopine brought Francine the box which contained the ball dress, and having done so he stood stock-still in an attitude of indescribable irresolution.At any other time Mademoiselle de Verneuil would have been much amused to see what a Breton peasant can be like when he leaves his native parish; but now she broke the charm by opening her purse and producing four crowns of six francs each, which she gave him.
"Take it," she said, "and if you wish to oblige me, you will go straight back to Fougeres without entering the camp or drinking any cider."The Chouan, amazed at her liberality, looked first at the crowns (which he had taken) and then at Mademoiselle de Verneuil; but she made him a sign with her hand and he disappeared.
"How could you send him away, mademoiselle?" said Francine."Don't you see how the place is surrounded? we shall never get away! and who will protect you here?""You have a protector of your own," said Marie maliciously, giving in an undertone Marche-a-Terre's owl cry which she was constantly practising.
Francine colored, and smiled rather sadly at her mistress's gaiety.
"But who is yours?" she said.
