"
"One would think she meant to stab us with that nose of hers!" cried
Hulot. "Here, look, you old nanny-goat!"
And he showed her in the distance three or four of his sentinels,
whose hats, guns, and uniforms it was easy to recognize.
"Are you going to let those fellows cut the throats of men who are
sent by Marche-a-Terre to protect the Gars?" he cried, angrily.
"Ah, beg pardon," said the woman; "but it is so easy to be deceived.
What parish do you belong to?"
"Saint-Georges," replied two or three of the men, in the Breton
patois, "and we are dying of hunger."
"Well, there," said the woman; "do you see that smoke down there?
that's my house. Follow the path to the right, and you will come
to the rock above it. Perhaps you'll meet my man on the way.
Galope-Chopine is sure to be on watch to warn the Gars. He is
spending the day in our house," she said, proudly, "as you seem
to know."
"Thank you, my good woman," replied Hulot. "Forward, march! God's
thunder! we've got him," he added, speaking to his men.
The detachment followed its leader at a quick step through the path
pointed out to them. The wife of Galope-Chopine turned pale as she
heard the un-Catholic oath of the so-called Chouan. She looked at the
gaiters and goatskins of his men, then she caught her boy in her arms,
and sat down on the ground, saying, "May the holy Virgin of Auray and
the ever blessed Saint-Labre have pity upon us! Those men are not
ours; their shoes have no nails in them.
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