On the yellow band with a white edge, which a recent regulation had made part of the equipment of the guard now called National, was a metal plate a good deal like that of the foresters, on which the law required the inscription of these remarkable words: “Respect to persons and to properties.” Francois’s rope had struck the belt and defaced it. Corentin took up the coat and found the place where the button he had picked up upon the road belonged.
“What time did they find you?” asked Corentin.
“About daybreak.”
“Did they bring you up here at once?” said Corentin, noticing that the bed had not been slept in.
“Yes.”
“Who brought you up?”
“The women and little Michu, who found me unconscious.”
“So!” thought Corentin: “evidently they didn’t go to bed. The corporal was not shot at, nor struck by any weapon, for an assailant must have been at his own height to strike a blow. Something, some obstacle, was in his way and that unhorsed him. A piece of wood? not possible! an iron chain? that would have left marks. What did you feel?” he said aloud.
“I was knocked over so suddenly—”
“The skin is rubbed off under your chin,” said Corentin quickly.