"Observe, my good Grain d'Orge," he said, "to what virtuous use can things evil be put. This paper, instead of being a brave man's death-warrant, shall bring liberty to a woman . . . who very little deserves it," he added to himself. "More, my faithful follower," he pursued impressively, "if you understood better what I was doing, you would be lost in admiration at the nobility of my character. I own that I am myself so lost."
"I understand this, M. le Chevalier," retorted the Breton with passion, "that you are mad, stark mad, to go playing your head like this! The woman Rozel has bewitched you."
"I believe you are right," answered his leader. "And she did it with a knife—my own! It is a potent spell, if an unusual. But you surely would not have a gentleman leave a woman to her fate, be she enchantress or no? . . . Well, we must have our horses before we can pay our visit to the Citizen Botidoux—that, I think you said, was the mayor's name. You can go first down the sheet and steady it for me."
It is not altogether surprising that Grain d'Orge, when his master slid to earth beside him, was muttering mingled prayers and imprecations. La Vireville smiled to himself as he leant his weight on that faithful arm, and the two moved off into the darkness.
(3)
About a quarter after midnight, M. Jacques-Pierre Botidoux, grocer and mayor, sleeping peacefully beside his wife, was aware of a very persistent knocking upon the door of his little shop below him. Arising, not without lamentation, and thrusting a night-capped head out of the window, he was astounded to see in the street two shadowy figures on horseback.
"What do you want?" he shouted ill-temperedly.
The taller figure lifted a dim face. "Silence!" it said in a low, rapid, and singularly impressive voice. "Silence, Citizen, and come down to the door!"
And at M. Botidoux, when, dazed, cross, and sleepy, he finally unfastened his shop door, was launched an imperative demand for the key of the village lock-up. As he gaped at the mandate the tall rider bent from the saddle; a vast tricolour sash showed indistinctly round his middle as he moved his arm under his cloak. "Citizen, I am from the quarters at Carhoët, but I carry orders from the Convention itself. You are to deliver to me without delay the person of the woman Rozel, arrested by you this morning. You did well and wisely in so arresting her, but higher powers than you have need of her, and at once. A conspiracy of great extent . . . the State . . . information . . . you understand?"
"But . . . but . . ." began M. Botidoux, who did not understand at all.