“But he’s got a fine pair of shoes!” said a soldier, beginning to pull them off.
“You can’t have them unless they fall to your share,” said the Fougeres man, dragging the dead feet away and flinging the boots on a heap of clothing already collected.
Another Chouan took charge of the money, so that lots might be drawn as soon as the troops were all assembled. When Hulot returned with Gudin, whose last attempt to overtake the Gars was useless as well as perilous, he found about a score of his own men and thirty of the contingent standing around eleven of the enemy, whose naked bodies were thrown into a ditch at the foot of the bank.
“Soldiers!” cried Hulot, sternly. “I forbid you to share that clothing. Form in line, quick!”
“Commandant,” said a soldier, pointing to his shoes, at the points of which five bare toes could be seen on each foot, “all right about the money, but those boots,” motioning to a pair of hobnailed boots with the butt of his gun, “would fit me like a glove.”
“Do you want to put English shoes on your feet?” retorted Hulot.
“But,” said one of the Fougeres men, respectfully, “we’ve divided the booty all through the war.”
“I don’t prevent you civilians from following your own ways,” replied Hulot, roughly.
“Here, Gudin, here’s a purse with three louis,” said the officer who was distributing the money. “You have run hard and the commandant won’t prevent your taking it.”
Hulot looked askance at Gudin, and saw that he turned pale.