A few contemptuous laughs came from the nearest ranks.
“Do you think,” said Corentin, sharply, “that the only way to serve France is with bayonets?”
Then he turned his back to the laughers, and asked a woman beside him if she knew the object of the expedition.
“Hey! my good man, the Chouans are at Florigny. They say there are more than three thousand, and they are coming to take Fougeres.”
“Florigny?” cried Corentin, turning white; “then the rendezvous is not there! Is Florigny on the road to Mayenne?” he asked.
“There are not two Florignys,” replied the woman, pointing in the direction of the summit of La Pelerine.
“Are you going in search of the Marquis de Montauran?” said Corentin to Hulot.
“Perhaps I am,” answered the commandant, curtly.
“He is not at Florigny,” said Corentin. “Send your troops there by all means; but keep a few of those imitation Chouans of yours with you, and wait for me.”
“He is too malignant not to know what he’s about,” thought Hulot as Corentin made off rapidly, “he’s the king of spies.”