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Updated: May 31, 2025
The opening, hidden by a little panel on which the picture was gummed, seemed to form some opening in the ceiling of the adjoining chamber, which, no doubt, was the bedroom of the royalist general. D'Orgemont closed the opening with much precaution, and looked at the girl sternly. "Don't say a word if you love your life. You haven't thrown your grappling-iron on a worthless building.
"Good-morning, Becaniere," said Marie, restraining a smile at the appearance of a person who bore some resemblance to the heads which architects attach to window-casings. "Ha! you come from d'Orgemont?" answered Barbette, in a tone that was far from cordial. "Yes, where can you hide me? for the Chouans are close by "
She tried to follow the path explained to her by d'Orgemont, but the darkness became so dense after the moon had gone down that she was forced to walk hap-hazard, blindly. Presently the fear of falling down some precipice seized her and saved her life, for she stopped suddenly, fancying the ground would disappear before her if she made another step.
"None of it, Monsieur d'Orgemont," replied Galope-Chopine, frightened. The cries, which had sunk into groans, continuous as the rattle in a dying throat, now began again with dreadful violence.
"Inasmuch as you are Monsieur d'Orgemont, of Fougeres," said Marche-a-Terre, with an air of ironical respect, "we shall let you go in peace. Neutrality is worth that, at least." "Three hundred crowns of six francs each!" chorussed the luckless banker, Pille-Miche, and Coupiau, in three different tones. "Alas, my good friend," continued d'Orgemont, "I'm a ruined man.
Just then three other Chouans rushed down the steps and entered the kitchen. Seeing Marche-a-Terre among them Pille-Miche discontinued his search, after casting upon d'Orgemont a look that conveyed the wrath of his balked covetousness. "Marie Lambrequin has come to life!" cried Marche-a-Terre, proclaiming by his manner that all other interests were of no account beside this great piece of news.
Now this said period, when the women were not averse to the odour of the priesthood, is not so far distant as some may think, Monsieur D'Orgemont, son of the preceding bishop, still held the see of Paris, and the great quarrels of the Armagnacs had not finished.
"How am I to pay it to you?" asked d'Orgemont. "Your country-house at Fougeres is not far from Gibarry's farm where my cousin Galope-Chopine, otherwise called Cibot, lives. You can pay the money to him," said Pille-Miche. "That's not business-like," said d'Orgemont. "What do we care for that?" said Marche-a-Terre.
Your house must be badly furnished if it can't give its master all he wants to warm him." The victim uttered a sharp cry, as if he hoped someone would hear him through the ceiling and come to his assistance. "Ho! sing away, Monsieur d'Orgemont; they are all asleep upstairs, and Marche-a-Terre is just behind me; he'll shut the cellar door."
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