"Isn't she a morsel!" he cried, with a coarse laugh.
Hearing the words, Francine recovered speech.
"Pierre?"
"Well, what?"
"He'll kill her."
"Not at once."
"Then she'll kill herself, she will never submit; and if she dies I
shall die too."
"Then you love her too much, and she shall die," said Marche-a-Terre.
"Pierre! if we are rich and happy we owe it all to her; but, whether
or no, you promised me to save her."
"Well, I'll try; but you must stay here, and don't move."
Francine at once let go his arm, and waited in horrible suspense in
the courtyard where Merle found her. Meantime Marche-a-Terre joined
his comrade at the moment when the latter, after dragging his victim
to the barn, was compelling her to get into the coach. Pille-Miche
called to him to help in pulling out the vehicle.
"What are you going to do with all that?" asked Marche-a-Terre.
"The Grande Garce gave me the woman, and all that belongs to her is
mine."
"The coach will put a sou or two in your pocket; but as for the woman,
she'll scratch your eyes out like a cat."
Pille-Miche burst into a roar of laughter.
"Then I'll tie her up and take her home," he answered.
"Very good; suppose we harness the horses," said Marche-a-Terre.
A few moments later Marche-a-Terre, who had left his comrade mounting
guard over his prey, led the coach from the stable to the causeway,
where Pille-Miche got into it beside Mademoiselle de Verneuil, not
perceiving that she was on the point of making a spring into the lake.
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