“Oh, so it is there you go?” she said, her face clearing. “Yes—you are right. My father went yesterday to join the Blues; our guard marched last night. There is scarcely a man left in the village.”
“And now perhaps you will tell me its name,” I suggested.
“It is called Dairon.”
“And where is the nearest Republican force?”
“There is a small one at Airvault and another at Moncontour; but if it is fighting you are looking for, citizen, you will press on to Thouars.”
“How far is Thouars?”
“Four leagues, and this road will lead you there.”
“Then it is this road I will take. So there is to be fighting at Thouars?”
“Our officers dined here last night,” she explained, “and I heard them talking. It seems that the brigands are gathering at Coulonges and expect to take Thouars. Bah! The Blues will fall upon them, surround them, exterminate them! For do you know what it is that they are planning, those scoundrels? They are planning to hold a place where that ogre of a Pitt may land his troops upon the sacred soil of France!”
Her eyes were blazing. I sprang to my feet.