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Galope-Chopine placed the beakers full of frothing cider before his guests, and the three Chouans began to eat; but from time to time the master of the house cast side-long glances at Marche-a-Terre as he drank his cider. "Lend me your snuff-box," said Marche-a-Terre to Pille-Miche.
The fighting was at Florigny. Who the devil could have told them that the Gars was in our house; no one knew it but he and the handsome garce and we " Barbette turned white. "They made me believe they were the gars of Saint-Georges," she said, trembling, "it was I who told them the Gars was here." Galope-Chopine turned pale himself and dropped his porringer on the table.
"Saint-Georges," replied two or three of the men, in the Breton patois, "and we are dying of hunger." "Well, there," said the woman; "do you see that smoke down there? that's my house. Follow the path to the right, and you will come to the rock above it. Perhaps you'll meet my man on the way. Galope-Chopine is sure to be on watch to warn the Gars.
This nocturnal caravan, protected by a guide whose clothing, attitudes, and person had something patriarchal about them, bore no little resemblance to the Flight into Egypt as we see it represented by the sombre brush of Rembrandt. Galope-Chopine carefully avoided the main-road and guided the two women through the labyrinth of by-ways which intersect Brittany.
"Why do you come here at this time of day? I am scarcely dressed. Let that peasant alone; he does not understand your tricks any more than I understand the motive of them. You can go, my man." Galope-Chopine hesitated a moment.
Galope-Chopine refilled the beakers, but his guests refused to drink again, and throwing aside their large hats looked at him solemnly. Their gestures and the look they gave him terrified Galope-Chopine, who fancied he saw blood in the red woollen caps they wore. "Fetch your axe," said Marche-a-Terre. "But, Monsieur Marche-a-Terre, what do you want it for?"
Galope-Chopine looked alternately from the mistress to the maid with evident distrust of the latter; but a sign from Mademoiselle de Verneuil reassured him. "Madame," he said, "about two o'clock he will be at my house waiting for you." Emotion prevented Mademoiselle de Verneuil from giving any other reply than a movement of her head, but the man understood her meaning.
She was, however, unable to move Galope-Chopine from the place he had chosen, and from which he intended to share in the benefits of the ceremony; but she noticed the nature of the ground around her, and hoped to be able to evade the danger by getting away, when the service was over, before the priests.
"That is true," said Marche-a-Terre, addressing Pille-Miche. The two Chouans waited a moment in much uncertainty, unable to decide this case of conscience. Galope-Chopine listened to the rustling of the wind as though he still had hope. Suddenly Pille-Miche took him by the arm into a corner of the hut.
The pair soon reached the hut of Galope-Chopine. Light as their steps were they roused one of those huge watch-dogs on whose fidelity the Bretons rely, putting no fastening to their doors but a simple latch. The dog ran to the strangers, and his bark became so threatening that they were forced to retreat a few steps and call for help. But no one came.
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