"Well?"
"M. de Puisaye at once ordered the alarm to be sounded. Within ten minutes the whole camp was afoot and M. de Puisaye then commanded the retreat."
"What?" exclaimed Madame. "Without striking a blow?"
"What would have been the use?" retorted the man with a shrug of the shoulders. "We had next to no arms, and to make a stand would have meant fighting against at least two companies of infantry and a battery of artillery, which could easily have cut us to pieces even before reinforcements came from Tinchebrai and Domfront. There is a half-battery of artillery at both those places, and we knew by then that all the garrisons round were in touch with one another. To have made a stand," reiterated the man gruffly, "would have meant useless bloodshed. M. de Puisaye was alive to that. He chose the wiser course."
"Not the most heroic," murmured Madame, under her breath.
"He had a lot of undisciplined, ill-fed, ill-clothed men to look after. What could he do? Now if we could have equipped ourselves at the factories of La Frontenay ..." he added with a harsh laugh.
"I know, I know," said Madame impatiently. "And M. de Puisaye has retreated—whither?"
"I do not know. To Avranches, I should say. The way was open, and, in any case, his losses would be very slight."
"And...." A name was on Madame's lips; she checked herself. She did not dare to speak it—not before this man ... in case....
"And M. de Courson?" she asked.