“Not at all,” said Denot; “no one in the country is more anxious for success than the old Marquis.”
“There you are again, friend,” said Santerre, “I know you’ll get your neck into danger. Have I not told you that the Republic knows nothing of Marquises?”
“I only called him by the name he goes by, as you’d call a man Peter, if his name were Peter. I didn’t mean to say he was a Marquis,” said Denot, excusing himself.
“But you mustn’t say so at all, unless you speak of him as a criminal, as you would speak of a perjurer, or a parricide. But as to this foolish old man; is he not doting? If I thought that, I might perhaps be excused in sparing him.”
“Doting!” said Denot; “not at all; he has all his faculties as much as you or I.”
Santerre gave a look of disgust at the wretch, who would not even follow his hint by giving such an account as might spare the life of the old man, who had been his host, his guardian, and his friend. He said nothing further, however, but trotted on quickly, till the cherry groves of Durbellière were in sight, and then he halted to give his final orders to his men, and make arrangements that the house should be surrounded.
“You remember our bargain, citizen General?” said Denot.
“What bargain?” asked the brewer.
“Why, about the young lady; the girl, you know,” replied the other. “No one is to interfere between me and Agatha Larochejaquelin. She is to be my prize and my reward.”
“I will be as good as my word,” said Santerre, “as long as you are true to yours; but I own I pity the young lady the treatment she is likely to receive from her lover,” and as he spoke, he rode up to the front door of the house, accompanied by Denot and a company of men on horseback.