"
"You are pretty free with your tongue, any way," said the driver,
shaking his head.
"Count your lambs, and the wolf will eat them," remarked another of
the travellers.
This man, who was dressed in black, seemed to be about forty years
old, and was, probably, the rector of some parish in the neighborhood.
His chin rested on a double fold of flesh, and his florid complexion
indicated a priest. Though short and fat, he displayed some agility
when required to get in or out of the vehicle.
"Perhaps you are both Chouans!" cried the man of the thousand francs,
whose ample goatskin, covering trousers of good cloth and a clean
waistcoat, bespoke a rich farmer. "By the soul of Saint Robespierre! I
swear you shall be roughly handled."
He turned his gray eyes from the driver to his fellow-travellers and
showed them a pistol in his belt.
"Bretons are not afraid of that," said the rector, disdainfully.
"Besides, do we look like men who want your money?"
Every time the word "money" was mentioned the driver was silent, and
the rector had wit enough to doubt whether the patriot had any at all,
and to suspect that the driver was carrying a good deal.
"Are you well laden, Coupiau?" he asked.
"Oh, no, Monsieur Gudin," replied the coachman. "I'm carrying next to
nothing."
The priest watched the faces of the patriot and Coupiau as the latter
made this answer, and both were imperturbable.
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