it to others without
emotion.

"And now," asked Montbar, "have you anything further to say?"

"Yes," replied Morgan, "I have to add that nothing is easier than to
procure horses, or even to escape on foot; we are all hunters and more
or less mountaineers. It will take us six hours on horse back to get
out of France, or twelve on foot. Once in Switzerland we can snap our
fingers at citizen Fouche and his police. That's all I have to say."

"It would be very amusing to laugh at citizen Fouche," said Montbar,
"but very dull to leave France."

"For that reason, I shall not put this extreme measure to a vote until
after we have talked with Cadoudal's messenger."

"Ah, true," exclaimed two or three voices; "the Breton! where is the
Breton?"

"He was asleep when I left," said Montbar.

"And he is still sleeping," said Adler, pointing to a man lying on a
heap of straw in a recess of the grotto.

They wakened the Breton, who rose to his knees, rubbing his eyes with
one hand and feeling for his carbine with the other.

"You are with friends," said a voice; "don't be afraid."

"Afraid!" said the Breton; "who are you, over there, who thinks I am
afraid?"

"Some one who probably does not know what fear is, my dear
Branche-d'Or," said Morgan, who recognized in Cadoudal's messenger the
same man whom they had received at the Chartreuse the night he himself
arrived from Avignon. "I ask pardon on his behalf."

Branche-d'Or looked at the young men before him with an air that left
no doubt of his repugnance for a certain sort of pleasantry; but as
the group had evidently no offensive intention, their gayety having no
insolence about it, he said, with a tolerably gracious air: "Which of
you gentlemen is captain? I have a letter for him from my captain."

Morgan advanced a step and said: "I am."

"Your name?"

"I have two."

"Your fighting name?"

"Morgan."

"Yes, that's the one the general told me; besides, I recognize you.
You gave me a bag containing sixty thousand francs the night I saw the
monks. The letter is for you then."

"Give it to me."

The peasant took off his hat, pulled out the lining, and from between
it and the felt he took a piece of paper which resembled another lining,
and seemed at first sight to be blank. Then, with a military salute, he
offered the paper to Morgan, who turned it over and over and could see
no writing; at least none was apparent.

"A candle," he said.

They brought a wax l