Beau-Pied, hearing her voice, rushed into the cottage, and aimed at
the count.
"Aristocrat!" he cried, "don't stir, or I'll demolish you in a wink,
like the Bastille."
"Monsieur Beau-Pied," said Mademoiselle de Verneuil, in a persuasive
voice, "you will be answerable to me for this prisoner. Do as you like
with him now, but you must return him to me safe and sound at
Fougeres."
"Enough, madame!"
"Is the road to Fougeres clear?"
"Yes, it's safe enough--unless the Chouans come to life."
Mademoiselle de Verneuil picked up the count's gun gaily, and smiled
satirically as she said to her prisoner, "Adieu, monsieur le comte, au
revoir!"
Then she darted down the path, having replaced the broad hat upon her
head.
"I have learned too late," said the count, "not to joke about the
virtue of a woman who has none."
"Aristocrat!" cried Beau-Pied, sternly, "if you don't want me to send
you to your /ci-devant/ paradise, you will not say a word against that
beautiful lady."
Mademoiselle de Verneuil returned to Fougeres by the paths which
connect the rocks of Saint-Sulpice with the Nid-aux-Crocs. When she
reached the latter height and had threaded the winding way cut in its
rough granite, she stopped to admire the pretty valley of the Nancon,
lately so turbulent and now so tranquil. Seen from that point, the
vale was like a street of verdure.
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