her knees.

"Where is she?" he asked.

"I don't know; Pierre drove me back and told me not to stir from here."

"Which way did they go?"

"That way," she replied, pointing to the causeway.

The captain and Francine then noticed in that direction a line of strong
shadows thrown by the moonlight on the lake, and among them that of a
female figure.

"It is she!" cried Francine.

Mademoiselle de Verneuil seemed to be standing, as if resigned, in the
midst of other figures, whose gestures denoted a debate.

"There are several," said the captain. "Well, no matter, let us go to
them."

"You will get yourself killed uselessly," said Francine.

"I have been killed once before to-day," he said gaily.

They both walked towards the gloomy gateway which led to the causeway;
there Francine suddenly stopped short.

"No," she said, gently, "I'll go no farther; Pierre told me not to
meddle; I believe in him; if we go on we shall spoil all. Do as you
please, officer, but leave me. If Pierre saw us together he would kill
you."

Just then Pille-Miche appeared in the gateway and called to the
postilion who was left in the stable. At the same moment he saw the
captain and covered him with his musket, shouting out, "By Saint Anne of
Auray! the rector was right enough in telling us the Blues had signed a
compact with the devil. I'll bring you to life, I will!"

"Stop! my life is sacred," cried Merle, seeing his danger. "There's the
glove of your Gars," and he held it out.

"Ghosts' lives are not sacred," replied the Chouan, "and I sha'n't give
you yours. Ave Maria!"

He fired, and the ball passed through his victim's head. The captain
fell. When Francine reached him she heard him mutter the words, "I'd
rather die with them than return without them."

The Chouan sprang upon the body to strip it, saying, "There's one
good thing about ghosts, they come to life in their clothes." Then,
recognizing the Gars' glove, that sacred safeguard, in the captain's
hand, he stopped short, terrified. "I wish I wasn't in the skin of
my mother's son!" he exclaimed, as he turned and disappeared with the
rapidity of a bird.

To understand this scene, so fatal to poor Merle, we must follow
Mademoiselle de Verneuil after the marquis, in his fury and despair, had
abandoned her to Pille-Miche. Francine had caught Marche-a-Terre by
the arm and reminded him, with sobs, of the promise he had made her.
Pille-Miche was already dragging away his vi