"Ah!" she said, "the Gars is more in love than ever; I made him come
with me to the gates of Fougeres."
"Your power seems to have stopped there," remarked Corentin; "the
fears of your /ci-devant/ are greater than the love you inspire."
"You judge him by yourself," she replied, with a contemptuous look.
"Well, then," said he, unmoved, "why did you not bring him here to
your own house?"
"Commandant," she said to Hulot, with a coaxing smile, "if he really
loves me, would you blame me for saving his life and getting him to
leave France?"
The old soldier came quickly up to her, took her hand, and kissed it
with a sort of enthusiasm. Then he looked at her fixedly and said in a
gloomy tone: "You forget my two friends and my sixty-three men."
"Ah, commandant," she cried, with all the naivete of passion, "he was
not accountable for that; he was deceived by a bad woman, Charette's
mistress, who would, I do believe, drink the blood of the Blues."
"Come, Marie," said Corentin, "don't tease the commandant; he does not
understand such jokes."
"Hold your tongue," she answered, "and remember that the day when you
displease me too much will have no morrow for you."
"I see, mademoiselle," said Hulot, without bitterness, "that I must
prepare for a fight."
"You are not strong enough, my dear colonel. I saw more than six
thousand men at Saint-James,--regular troops, artillery, and English
officers.
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