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Updated: June 24, 2025
"I daren't touch you," added Marche-a-Terre, putting out his big hand nevertheless, as if to weigh the gold chain which hung round her neck and below her waist. "You had better not, Pierre," replied Francine, inspired by the instinct which makes a woman despotic when not oppressed.
"And bring your invisible owl, Marche-a-Terre?" "Who is Marche-a-Terre?" asked the young man, showing all the signs of genuine surprise. "Didn't he hoot just now?" "What did that hooting have to do with me, I should like to know? I supposed it was your soldiers letting you know of their arrival." "Nonsense, you did not think that." "Yes, I did.
Mademoiselle de Verneuil then understood the carp-like movements she had seen the miser making. "The ghost has taken the Blue with him," cried the voice of Marche-a-Terre.
"There's no danger for the rest of you," Marche-a-Terre was saying roughly to Francine, giving to his hoarse and guttural voice a reproachful tone, and emphasizing his last words in a way to stupefy the innocent peasant-girl. For the first time in her life she saw ferocity in that face. The moonlight seemed to heighten the effect of it.
"Come, cousin, you know very well," said Pille-Miche, pocketing his snuff-box which Marche-a-Terre returned to him; "you are condemned." The two Chouans rose together and took their guns. "Monsieur Marche-a-Terre, I never said one word about the Gars " "I told you to fetch your axe," said Marche-a-Terre.
"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.
The voice became so lamentable that Mademoiselle de Verneuil forgot her own danger and uttered an exclamation. "Who spoke?" asked Marche-a-Terre. The Chouans looked about them with terrified eyes. These men, so brave in fight, were unable to face a ghost. Pille-Miche alone continued to listen to the promises which the flames were now extracting from his victim.
"Well, then, old money-bag, down on your stomach," said the other, "and wriggle like a snake through a hedge, or we shall leave our carcasses behind us sooner than we need." "Hey, Marche-a-Terre," said the incorrigible Pille-Miche, who was using his hands to drag himself along on his stomach, and had reached the level of his comrade's ear.
Two or three chiefs of what were called the "Chasseurs du Roi" clustered about Marche-a-Terre. A few feet apart sat the young noble called The Gars, on a granite rock, absorbed in thoughts excited by the difficulties of his enterprise, which now began to show themselves.
As he reached the spot where he had left the Chouan, Marche-a-Terre, who had seen with apparent indifference the various movements of the commander, but who was now watching with extraordinary intelligence the two soldiers in the woods to the right, suddenly gave the shrill and piercing cry of the chouette, or screech-owl.
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