All the battered old hats were hung on the points of the
bayonets and the muskets held aloft, while the soldiers shouted with
one voice: "Vive la Republique!" Even the wounded, sitting by the
roadside, shared in the general enthusiasm; and Hulot, pressing
Gerard's hand, exclaimed:--
"Ha, ha! those are what I call /veterans/!"
Merle was directed to bury the dead in a ravine; while another party
of men attended to the removal of the wounded. The carts and horses of
the neighborhood were put into requisition, and the suffering men were
carefully laid on the clothing of the dead. Before the little column
started, the National Guard of Fougeres turned over to Hulot a Chouan,
dangerously wounded, whom they had captured at the foot of the slope
up which his comrades had escaped, and where he had fallen from
weakness.
"Thanks for your help, citizens," said the commandant. "God's thunder!
if it hadn't been for you, we should have had a pretty bad quarter of
an hour. Take care of yourselves; the war has begun. Adieu, friends."
Then, turning to the prisoner, he asked, "What's the name of your
general?"
"The Gars."
"Who? Marche-a-Terre?"
"No, the Gars."
"Where does the Gars come from?"
To this question the prisoner, whose face was convulsed with
suffering, made no reply; he took out his beads and began to say his
prayers.
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