Meanwhile Brutus Carré was occupied with the forms of republican justice. His prisoners were to be taken to Paris, since Justice lacked implements here, and Rancy owned no convenient stream where one might drown the accused in pairs, or sink them by the boat-load.
Ange Desaix faced him with a high look. If her ideals were tottering, their nobility still clung about her, wrapping her from this man's rude gaze.
"I was a Republican before the Revolution," she said, and her look drew from Citizen Carré an outburst of venom.
"You are suspect, gravely suspect," he bellowed.
"But, Citizen—" and the frank gaze grew a little bewildered.
"But, Citoyenne!—but, Aristocrat! What! you answer me, you bandy words? Is treason so bold in Rancy-les-Bois? Truly it's time the wasp's nest was smoked out. Take her away!" and Mlle Ange went out, still with that bewildered look.
M. le Curé came next. There was a high flush on his thin cheeks, and his fingers laced and interlaced continually.
When Carré blustered at him he started, leaned forward, and tapped the table sharply.
"I wish to speak, to make a statement," he said in a high, trembling voice.
There was a surprised silence, whilst the priest stretched out his hand and spoke as from the pulpit.