"I say, Pille-Miche!" cried Marche-a-Terre.
"What!"
"I'll buy all your booty."
"Are you joking?" asked the other, catching his prisoner by the
petticoat, as a butcher catches a calf that is trying to escape him.
"Let me see her, and I'll set a price."
The unfortunate creature was made to leave the coach and stand between
the two Chouans, who each held a hand and looked at her as the Elders
must have looked at Susannah.
"Will you take thirty francs in good coin?" said Marche-a-Terre, with
a groan.
"Really?"
"Done?" said Marche-a-Terre, holding out his hand.
"Yes, done; I can get plenty of Breton girls for that, and choice
morsels, too. But the coach; whose is that?" asked Pille-Miche,
beginning to reflect upon his bargain.
"Mine!" cried Marche-a-Terre, in a terrible tone of voice, which
showed the sort of superiority his ferocious character gave him over
his companions.
"But suppose there's money in the coach?"
"Didn't you say, 'Done'?"
"Yes, I said, 'Done.'"
"Very good; then go and fetch the postilion who is gagged in the
stable over there."
"But if there's money in the--"
"Is there any?" asked Marche-a-Terre, roughly, shaking Marie by the
arm.
"Yes, about a hundred crowns."
The two Chouans looked at each other.
"Well, well, friend," said Pille-Miche, "we won't quarrel for a female
Blue; let's pitch her into the lake with a stone around her neck, and
divide the money.
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