“And do you think,” said Denot, “that puny boy could really stop my way, if I chose to put out my right hand against him. Boy, I despise and disregard you! would before I die that it might be allowed me to measure arms with any man, who would dare to say that he would advocate your cause!”
“Beware the switch, traitor—beware the switch!” repeated the Chevalier.
“Be quiet, Arthur, do not anger him,” whispered Agatha. “It is not generous, you know, to insult a fallen foe.”
“There are no terms to be kept with a traitor, Agatha. If we get the better of this, Santerre, as I am sure we shall now, you shall see that I know how to treat a generous foe generously.”
When Santerre reached the front of the house, he at once saw that any attempt on his part to oppose the crowd of armed peasants who were now close upon him, would be futile. The only mode of escape which appeared to him at all practicable, was to attempt to ride through them. He gave the command “to horse,” and got so far himself as to mount into his saddle; but it was of no use, he was surrounded by a crowd of peasants before he got to the gate, and he soon found himself on foot again, and unarmed. Some ten or twenty of his men, who were ready to jump into the saddle at the moment when they were first aware of the approach of the royalists, escaped, but the remainder in a few minutes found themselves prisoners in the château.
The peasants were headed by Father Jerome, the priest of St. Laud, and it was he who first mounted the steps leading up to the front door of the house. “Thank God,” said he, speaking more to himself than to those around him. “Thank God!” and he stood up against the pedestal of one of the lions, the heavy wooden crucifix which he had carried in his hand as he marched, or rather ran, to the succour of his friends at Durbellière; and then he took off his cap, and with the sleeve of his dusty grey coat he wiped the perspiration from off his brow. “And the Marquis and Mademoiselle are unhurt? Thank God—thank God! we were just in time, but we had a smart run for it.”
Chapeau had already dived into the kitchen through the window, and had learnt that at any rate the republicans had as yet shed no blood.
“And how did the Marquis bear it, Momont?” said he. “It was enough to kill the old gentleman.”
“‘Why, yes,” said Momont. “We had to bear a good deal, but we did bear it manfully and well. We were all led out to be shot, you know.”
“What, the Marquis and Mademoiselle and all?” said Chapeau.