The behavior of the Chouan proved to Francine that he had not
recognized her. Under the hazardous circumstances which she felt her
mistress to be in, she scarcely knew whether to regret or to rejoice
in this unconsciousness. But the mysterious connection between the
landlord's offer (not uncommon among innkeepers, who can thus kill two
birds with one stone), and the Chouan's threats, piqued her curiosity.
She left the dirty window from which she could see the formless heap
which she knew to be Marche-a-Terre, and returned to the landlord, who
was still standing in the attitude of a man who feels he has made a
blunder, and does not know how to get out of it. The Chouan's gesture
had petrified the poor fellow. No one in the West was ignorant of the
cruel refinements of torture with which the "Chasseurs du Roi"
punished those who were even suspected of indiscretion; the landlord
felt their knives already at his throat. The cook looked with a
shudder at the iron stove on which they often "warmed" ("chauffaient")
the feet of those they suspected. The fat landlady held a knife in one
hand and a half-peeled potato in the other, and gazed at her husband
with a stupefied air. Even the scullion puzzled himself to know the
reason of their speechless terror. Francine's curiosity was naturally
excited by this silent scene, the principal actor of which was visible
to all, though departed.
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