The voice became so lamentable that Mademoiselle de Verneuil forgot her own danger and uttered an exclamation.
“Who spoke?” asked Marche-a-Terre.
The Chouans looked about them with terrified eyes. These men, so brave in fight, were unable to face a ghost. Pille-Miche alone continued to listen to the promises which the flames were now extracting from his victim.
“Five hundred thousand crowns—yes, I’ll give them,” cried the victim.
“Well, where are they?” answered Pille-Miche, tranquilly.
“Under the first apple-tree—Holy Virgin! at the bottom of the garden to the left—you are brigands—thieves! Ah! I’m dying—there’s ten thousand francs—”
“Francs! we don’t want francs,” said Marche-a-Terre; “those Republican coins have pagan figures which oughtn’t to pass.”
“They are not francs, they are good louis d’or. But oh! undo me, unbind me! I’ve told you where my life is—my money.”
The four Chouans looked at each other as if thinking which of their number they could trust sufficiently to disinter the money.
The cannibal cruelty of the scene so horrified Mademoiselle de Verneuil that she could bear it no longer. Though doubtful whether the role of ghost, which her pale face and the Chouan superstitions evidently assigned to her, would carry her safely through the danger, she called out, courageously, “Do you not fear God’s anger? Unbind him, brutes!”