They walked through the town. At the other end the general stopped before an old linden tree.
"Citizens," he said, "preserve this tree and never allow any one to cut it down. It was here that a hero, who had defended your town with five hundred men against the whole royal army commanded by Biron, suffered martyrdom. The hero's name was Claude Morel. That brute of a beast, named Biron, who ended by biting the hand that fed him, had Morel hanged to that tree. A few years later, it was Biron himself, who, having betrayed France, fought for his life with the executioner, until the man was forced to cut off his head by a miracle of strength and skill, taking his sword from the attendant's hand when the prisoner was not looking."
And saluting the glorious tree, Pichegru continued on his way amid the plaudits of the people who accompanied him.
Some one who knew where Barbier's vineyard was, discovered him in the midst of the poles and called him. Barbier lifted his head, covered with the traditional red cap, and asked: "Who wants me?"
"Charlot," replied the other.
"What Charlot?"
"Charlot Pichegru."
"You are making fun of me," said the vine-dresser, and he returned to his work.
"Indeed, I am not, for here he is himself."
"Hey! Barbier," cried Pichegru.