"My friends, my good friends," screamed d'Orgemont, "you hurt me, you
kill me! I'm a Christian like you."
"You lie in your throat!" replied Marche-a-Terre. "Your brother denied
God; and as for you, you bought the abbey of Juvigny. The Abbe Gudin
says we can roast apostates when we find them."
"But, my brothers in God, I don't refuse to pay."
"We gave you two weeks, and it is now two months, and Galope-Chopine
here hasn't received the money."
"Haven't you received any of it, Galope-Chopine?" asked the miser, in
despair.
"None of it, Monsieur d'Orgemont," replied Galope-Chopine, frightened.
The cries, which had sunk into groans, continuous as the rattle in a
dying throat, now began again with dreadful violence. Accustomed to
such scenes, the four Chouans looked at d'Orgemont, who was twisting
and howling, so coolly that they seemed like travellers watching
before an inn fire till the roast meat was done enough to eat.
"I'm dying, I'm dying!" cried the victim, "and you won't get my
money."
In spite of these agonizing cries, Pille-Miche saw that the fire did
not yet scorch the skin; he drew the sticks cleverly together so as to
make a slight flame. On this d'Orgemont called out in a quavering
voice: "My friends, unbind me! How much do you want? A hundred crowns
--a thousand crowns--ten thousand crowns--a hundred thousand crowns--I
offer you two hundred thousand crowns!"
The voice became so lamentable that Mademoiselle de Verneuil forgot
her own danger and uttered an exclamation.
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