"No," replied Courtin; "I've a number of things to say to you. Let us hide in this bush till the cart has gone by, and then we can finish our business."
They walked toward the ditch. Jean knew he was lost; but, unwilling to be caught like a hare on its form, he rose to his knees, and pulled his knife from his belt. It was blunt, to be sure, but in a hand to hand struggle could still be of use. He had no other weapon and supposed the two men to be unarmed. But Courtin, who had seen a man's form rise in the bush and heard the rustle of the reeds and brambles, made three steps backward, seized his gun hidden behind the fallen tree, cocked one barrel, lifted the weapon to his shoulder, and fired. A stifled cry followed the explosion.
"What have you done?" cried the stranger, who seemed to think Courtin's action rather too expeditious.
"See! see!" replied Courtin, trembling and very pale; "a man was watching us."
The stranger went to the bushes and parted the branches.
"Take care! take care!" said Courtin; "if it is a Chouan and he is not quite dead, he'll attack you."
So saying, Courtin, with his other barrel cocked, held himself ready to fire at a safe distance.
"It is a peasant," said the stranger, "but I think he is dead."
So saying, he took Jean Oullier by the arm and dragged him out of the ditch. Courtin, seeing that the man was motionless and apparently dead, ventured to approach.
"Jean Oullier!" he cried out, recognizing the Vendéan, "Jean Oullier! My faith! I never expected to kill a man, but since it was to be, it is a grand thing it was he instead of another. That, I can truly say, deserves to be called a lucky shot."