Presently the heavy step of the old soldier resounded in the adjoining
room.
"Well, commandant, where is my captive?" she said.
"I have just ordered a picket of twelve men to shoot him, being taken
with arms in his hand."
"Why have you disposed of my prisoner?" she asked. "Listen to me,
commandant; surely, if I can trust your face, the death of a man
/after/ a fight is no particular satisfaction to you. Well, then, give
my Chouan a reprieve, for which I will be responsible, and let me see
him. I assure you that aristocrat has become essential to me, and he
can be made to further the success of our plans. Besides, to shoot a
mere amateur in Chouannerie would be as absurd as to fire on a balloon
when a pinprick would disinflate it. For heaven's sake leave cruelty
to the aristocracy. Republicans ought to be generous. Wouldn't you and
yours have forgiven the victims of Quiberon? Come, send your twelve
men to patrol the town, and dine with me and bring the prisoner. There
is only an hour of daylight left, and don't you see," she added
smiling, "that if you are too late, my toilet will have lost its
effect?"
"But, mademoiselle," said the commandant, amazed.
"Well, what? But I know what you mean. Don't be anxious; the count
shall not escape. Sooner or later that big butterfly will burn himself
in your fire."
The commandant shrugged his shoulders slightly, with the air of a man
who is forced to obey, whether he will or no, the commands of a pretty
woman; and he returned in about half an hour, followed by the Comte de
Bauvan.
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