“Silence, girl! What are you to question the methods of the Republic? It is a good recommendation at least that they commission a footpad to patrol the neighbourhood.”
“It is none of their doing. Oh, monsieur, will you not believe me? He was an honest servant of theirs till this religion of Reason drove him to the crooked path. And he has been dismissed this twelvemonth.”
“Harkee, wench! If I read you right, you are well quit of a scoundrel.”
She fell to sobbing and clucking over that again; and in the midst of her outburst the half-revived felon was hustled into the shed.
The poor broken and collapsed creature fell at Crépin’s feet and moaned for mercy.
“Give me a day of life,” he snuffled abjectly, “and I will lead you to the treasure.”
One of the guard pecked at his ribs with his boot.
“Pomme de chou!” he grunted, “have you no other song to sing but that?”
But Crépin was looking extremely grave and virtuous.
“The prisoner is in no state to be examined,” he said. “Place him under lock and key, with food and drink; and I will put him to the question later.”