The emissary of the Convention changed his tone. "Eh?" he said sharply. "Will not this satisfy you?" He flapped some kind of paper in the startled face. "Must I bring in my escort to convince you?"
"No, no!" stammered Botidoux. "No, Citizen Commissary, I will get the key, I will come at once!"
"That is well," responded the cloaked figure. "But, look you, not a word! It is of the utmost importance that no one in the village knows of this transfer of a prisoner of State. Others are not to be trusted as the Convention trusts you, Citizen! That is why I left my escort at the cross-roads, and came with only this good fellow to guide me."
"But the woman——"
"Do you think two able men cannot manage one woman, Mr. Mayor?"
Very soon the short, stout, and rattled Botidoux was trotting by the side of the silent horsemen, was leading them towards the little house standing back from the street which served as a lock-up for drunkards. Porhoët was not of sufficient importance for a jail. Towards this Botidoux vanished, important, if puzzled, and in a little while reappeared, bringing by the wrist the figure of a woman. Some other man was vaguely discernible in the background.
"Put her up in front of the guide," ordered the Commissary, who seemed to have no wish to dismount.
Mme. Rozel must have recognised his voice, for she gave a faint scream, which Botidoux had the wit to smother ere he lifted her into Grain d'Orge's unwilling arms. But once there the captive began a fresh protest.
"Where are you taking me—who is it?" she cried, struggling. But, since expostulations were only to be expected in her situation, M. Botidoux was not at all perturbed.
"Be silent, woman!" he urged; and as the riders, turning their steeds, began to move down the street, he added, "I think your escort has come to look for you, M. le Commissaire."