"Never mind who I am. It is my business to keep down Chouans."
"But I am not a Chouan!"
"A man is known by his company. Now then—quick march—away!"
"Adieu, Martin! This is all nonsense—I shall soon come back," Angelot cried, as they hustled him on.
A few moments, and the very tramp of their feet was lost in the dusk, for they had dragged their prisoner out of the lane and were crossing the open moor. Martin, in much tribulation, made the best of his way back to meet his father and mother, and with them carried the news to La Marinière.
Half an hour later, Monsieur Urbain, whistling gaily, came back from a pleasant stroll home with his Sainfoy cousins. Everything seemed satisfactory; Adélaïde had been kind, the vintage was splendid. If only Angelot were a sensible boy, there would be nothing left to wish for.
The moon was up, flooding the old yards that were now empty and still. As he came near, he saw Anne waiting for him in the porch, and supposed that the moonlight made her so strangely pale.
"My dearest," he said, as he came up, "there is to be a ball this month at Lancilly, in honour of Georges. But I do not know whether that foolish son of yours will be invited."
Anne looked him in the face; no, it was not the moonlight that made her so pale.