The poacher, who had been lounging on the bridge, slouched slowly forward and touched his cap.
“I am organizing a franc corps,” he said, with a deadly sidelong glance at the mayor, who now stood beside the lieutenant. 274
“You can explain that at Lorient,” replied the lieutenant. “Fall in there!”
“But I—”
“Fall in!” repeated the lieutenant.
The poacher’s visage became inflamed. He hesitated, looking around for an avenue of escape. Then he caught my disgusted eye.
“For the last time,” said the lieutenant, coolly drawing his revolver, “I order you to fall in!”
The poacher backed into the straggling rank, glaring.
“Now,” said the lieutenant, “you may go to your house and get your packet. If we have left when you return, follow and report at the arsenal in Lorient. Fall out! March!”
The poacher backed out to the rear of the rank, turned on his heel, and strode away towards the coast, clinched fists swinging by his side.