Gudin's men did not see them, in spite of the white
reflections of the hoar-frost and their own practised sight.
"Hush! here they are," said Beau-Pied, cautiously putting out his
head. "The brigands have more men than we, but we have 'em at the
muzzles of our guns, and we mustn't miss them, or, by the Lord, we are
not fit to be soldiers of the pope."
By this time Gudin's keen eyes had discovered a few muzzles pointing
through the branches at his little squad. Just then eight voices cried
in derision, "Qui vive?" and eight shots followed. The balls whistled
round Gudin and his men. One fell, another was shot in the arm. The
five others who were safe and sound replied with a volley and the cry,
"Friends!" Then they marched rapidly on their assailants so as to
reach them before they had time to reload.
"We did not know how true we spoke," cried Gudin, as he recognized the
uniforms and the battered hats of his own brigade. "Well, we behaved
like Bretons, and fought before explaining."
The other men were stupefied on recognizing the little company.
"Who the devil would have known them in those goatskins?" cried
Beau-Pied, dismally.
"It is a misfortune," said Gudin, "but we are all innocent if you were
not informed of the sortie. What are you doing here?" he asked.
"A dozen of those Chouans are amusing themselves by picking us off,
and we are getting away as best we can, like poisoned rats; but by
dint of scrambling over these hedges and rocks--may the lightning
blast 'em!--our compasses have got so rusty we are forced to take a
rest.
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