“The Grande Garce gave me the woman, and all that belongs to her is mine.”
“The coach will put a sou or two in your pocket; but as for the woman, she’ll scratch your eyes out like a cat.”
Pille-Miche burst into a roar of laughter.
“Then I’ll tie her up and take her home,” he answered.
“Very good; suppose we harness the horses,” said Marche-a-Terre.
A few moments later Marche-a-Terre, who had left his comrade mounting guard over his prey, led the coach from the stable to the causeway, where Pille-Miche got into it beside Mademoiselle de Verneuil, not perceiving that she was on the point of making a spring into the lake.
“I say, Pille-Miche!” cried Marche-a-Terre.
“What!”
“I’ll buy all your booty.”
“Are you joking?” asked the other, catching his prisoner by the petticoat, as a butcher catches a calf that is trying to escape him.