e before my
wife returns. See, I will put a little food in this handkerchief. There,
you may tell Monsieur de Marigny I have been loyal to him. Go, go! and,
above all, remember never to come near me again, or say those sheep are
mine. You will be safe, quite safe."

Rosette laughed. "You have a kind heart, Jean Paulet," she mocked. "But
I think perhaps you are right. You are too much of a poltroon to be a
safe comrade in adversity."

She sprang from her chair and ran to the doorway. Then she looked back.
"Hark you, Jean Paulet! This price upon my head--it is a fine price, he?
Well, I am little, but I have a tongue, and _I know what my papa de
Marigny knows_. Ah! the fine tale to tell, if they catch us! Eh?
Farewell."

She ran lightly across the yard, pausing a moment when a yellow mongrel
dog leaped up and licked her chin. "He, Gegi, you love me better than
your master does!" she said, stooping to pat his rough coat. "And you do
not love your master any better than I do, eh? Why, then you had better
keep sheep too! There is a brave idea. Come, Gegi, come!" And together
they ran off through the sunshine.

* * * * *

It was very cold that autumn up on the higher lands, very cold and very
lonely.

Also several days had passed since Rosette had ventured down to the
nearest friendly farm to seek for food, and her little store of
provisions was nearly finished.

"You and I must eat, Gegi. Stay with the sheep, little one, while I go
and see if I can reach some house in safety." And, the yellow mongrel
offering no objection, Rosette started.

She was not the only person in La Vendee who lacked food. Thousands of
loyal peasants starved, and the republican soldiers themselves were not
too plentifully supplied. Certainly they grumbled bitterly sometimes, as
did that detachment of them who sheltered themselves from the keen wind
under the thick hedge that divided the rough road leading to La
Plastiere from the fields.

"Bah! we live like pigs in these days!" growled one of the men.

"It is nothing," said another. "Think what we shall get at La Plastiere!
The village has a few fat farmers, who have escaped pillaging so far by
the love they bore, as they said, to the good republic. But that is
ended: once we have caught this rascal Marigny in their midst, we can
swear they are not good republicans."

"But," objected the first speaker, "they may say they knew nothing of
this Marigny hiding