He therefore checked Gerard, whose hand was on
his sword to despatch him; but he placed two soldiers beside the man
he now felt to be a spy, and ordered them in a loud, clear voice to
shoot him at the next sound he made. In spite of his imminent danger
Marche-a-Terre showed not the slightest emotion. The commandant, who
was studying him, took note of this apparent insensibility, and
remarked to Gerard: "That fool is not so clever as he means to be! It
is far from easy to read the face of a Chouan, but the fellow betrays
himself by his anxiety to show his nerve. Ha! ha! if he had only
pretended fear I should have taken him for a stupid brute. He and I
might have made a pair! I came very near falling into the trap. Yes,
we shall undoubtedly be attacked; but let 'em come; I'm all ready
now."
As he said these words in a low voice, rubbing his hands with an air
of satisfaction, he looked at the Chouan with a jeering eye. Then he
crossed his arms on his breast and stood in the road with his favorite
officers beside him awaiting the result of his arrangements. Certain
that a fight was at hand, he looked at his men composedly.
"There'll be a row," said Beau-Pied to his comrades in a low voice.
"See, the commandant is rubbing his hands."
In critical situations like that in which the detachment and its
commander were now placed, life is so clearly at stake that men of
nerve make it a point of honor to show coolness and self-possession.
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