"
"If Saint-Labre," remarked Pille-Miche, "would only change into cider
the blood we shall shed to-night the citizens might lay in a good
stock to-morrow."
Marche-a-Terre laid his large hand over his friend's mouth; then an
order muttered by him went from rank to rank of the Chouans suspended
as they were in mid-air among the brambles of the slate rocks.
Corentin, walking up and down the esplanade had too practiced an ear
not to hear the rustling of the shrubs and the light sound of pebbles
rolling down the sides of the precipice. Marche-a-Terre, who seemed to
possess the gift of seeing in darkness, and whose senses, continually
in action, were acute as those of a savage, saw Corentin; like a
trained dog he had scented him. Fouche's diplomatist listened but
heard nothing; he looked at the natural wall of rock and saw no signs.
If the confusing gleam of the fog enabled him to see, here and there,
a crouching Chouan, he took him, no doubt, for a fragment of rock, for
these human bodies had all the appearance of inert nature. This danger
to the invaders was of short duration. Corentin's attention was
diverted by a very distinct noise coming from the other end of the
Promenade, where the rock wall ended and a steep descent leading down
to the Queen's Staircase began. When Corentin reached the spot he saw
a figure gliding past it as if by magic.
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