“A thousand crowns, my dear man,” replied the banker, with a piteous air, hoping for a reduction.
“If your Republic gets forced loans out of you for such big sums as that you must see that you would do better with us; our government would cost you less. Three hundred crowns, do you call that dear for your skin?”
“Where am I to get them?”
“Out of your strong-box,” said Pille-Miche; “and mind that the money is forthcoming, or we’ll singe you still.”
“How am I to pay it to you?” asked d’Orgemont.
“Your country-house at Fougeres is not far from Gibarry’s farm where my cousin Galope-Chopine, otherwise called Cibot, lives. You can pay the money to him,” said Pille-Miche.
“That’s not business-like,” said d’Orgemont.
“What do we care for that?” said Marche-a-Terre. “But mind you remember that if that money is not paid to Galope-Chopine within two weeks we shall pay you a little visit which will cure your gout. As for you, Coupiau,” added Marche-a-Terre, “your name in future is to be Mene-a-Bien.”
So saying, the two Chouans departed. The traveller returned to the vehicle, which, thanks to Coupiau’s whip, now made rapid progress to Fougeres.
“If you’d only been armed,” said Coupiau, “we might have made some defence.”