"Yes, mademoiselle, there are seven louis left."
Bertha took the purse, and putting it in the hands of the little girl, said: "Take this, dear child; the gift will alleviate the misery of your parents. Give them this purse."
Giving the child a parting kiss, Mademoiselle Plouernel returned her to her mother, who, breaking into tears, knelt down upon the ground, and clasping her hands, cried:
"Oh, our demoiselle! Blessings upon you! We shall ever love you!"
"Yes, yes; blessings upon you, our demoiselle! We shall ever love you! Blessings upon you!" repeated and re-echoed a large number of women, their voices tremulous with admiration at the scene they had just witnessed.
Little by little, and from mouth to mouth, the report of Mademoiselle Plouernel's magnanimity, and the charitable orders that she issued to the bailiff, spread among the peasants. Many of these, having joined their wives and children, stood in a circle around the young lady as the bailiff returned, followed by Sergeant La Montagne, who was pale with rage. The man's insolent brutality did not seem to be ready to bend before the rank of Mademoiselle Plouernel. No sooner had he arrived in her presence than he ejaculated:
"By God's death, mademoiselle, I am neither a bailiff nor an usher! I am a sergeant in the Crown Regiment. I receive orders from my colonel only. Several of the rustics have dared to lay hands upon me, and to disarm me! They are now in the hands of my soldiers, who will take them to Vannes. If you love pretty sights, mademoiselle, I shall afford you the pleasure of seeing the brigands hang by the neck. It is the will of Sergeant La Montagne that those rustics be hanged!"
Among the "brigands" whom the sergeant destined for the gallows, and whom his soldiers held prisoner a little distance from where Mademoiselle Plouernel was looking down from her horse upon La Montagne, but too far away to be seen by her, were Nominoë, Salaun and Madok the miller. Shocked at the swash-buckler's words, the young lady sat up erect in her saddle, haughty, angry, threatening, and her eyes sparkling with so much indignation that, despite his brazenness, the sergeant lowered his gaze.
"Listen well to me," said Mademoiselle Plouernel incisively. "Your colonel, the Marquis of Chateauvieux, is now stopping at the Castle of Plouernel, with my brother. Your colonel is a man of honor. He will not tolerate the insulting of women by his soldiers, as you had the impudence to do a short time ago."
"Mademoiselle," stammered the sergeant upon learning that his colonel was the guest of Mademoiselle Plouernel's brother, "I was only joking with the peasant girl."