She did not seem afraid of the Terror, this Madame of theirs.
It was disappointing.
But Jean Floessel knew how to deal with vile aristos. He advanced with a swagger.
"Come," he jeered. "We're on our way to pay you a visit. It's a large party, but there's room enough at the château for all. It's absurd for three people to occupy so many apartments when we herd by the dozen in one. But there's an end to that now. Come, Citoyenne, you'll return with us, and we'll have a pleasant evening. If I mistake not, the little one there has a fine pair of eyes and a pretty mouth. Aha! we shall have amusement. And you'll be kind, my friends, if you're wise, or there's a citoyenne at St. Malo whose embrace is closer and colder than that of Jean Floessel, and less to your taste, I'll swear."
A hoarse shout of laughter greeted the sally.
After all, it was their day now, and, as Jean said, they would amuse themselves. There would be wine as well as dancing at the château.
It was at this moment that Père Mouet stepped forward.
A familiar little figure in brown habit, with a brown, kindly old face.
But, just now, the memories of the men of Kérnak were short.
"My children," he cried, raising his arm, "what is this? You would be led by this man into sin? I will not believe it of you. This is not Paris—it is not even France. It is Brittany—our Brittany. We of a good and noble land will not join hands with murderers; or what will le bon Dieu say to us,—He who guards and protects us in storm and gale, and who brings love and joy to our homes? Go back to those homes now, my children, and thank the blessed saints that you have been saved from crime."