"I am Jacques Pinaud," he replied, with a glance at Coupiau; "a poor
linen-draper."
Coupiau made a sign in the negative, not considering it an infraction
of his promise to Saint Anne. The sign enlightened Pille-Miche, who
took aim at the luckless traveller, while Marche-a-Terre laid before
him categorically a terrible ultimatum.
"You are too fat to be poor. If you make me ask you your name again,
here's my friend Pille-Miche, who will obtain the gratitude and
good-will of your heirs in a second. Who are you?" he added, after a
pause.
"I am d'Orgemont, of Fougeres."
"Ah! ah!" cried the two Chouans.
"I didn't tell your name, Monsieur d'Orgemont," said Coupiau. "The
Holy Virgin is my witness that I did my best to protect you."
"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. Only, as you are neither a good Chouan nor a true Blue
(thought it was you who bought the property of the Abbey de Juvigny),
you will pay us three hundred crowns of six francs each for your
ransom. 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. The
last forced loan of that devilish Republic for a hundred millions
sucked me dry, taxed as I was already.
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