ival had delivered her, and whose
figure, illuminated by the flame, was like that of the little boxwood
men so grotesquely carved in Germany. The moans of his prisoner produced
a broad grin upon features that were ribbed with wrinkles and tanned by
the sun.

"You see," he said to his victim, "that we Christians keep our promises,
which you don't. That fire is going to thaw out your legs and tongue and
hands. Hey! hey! I don't see a dripping-pan to put under your feet; they
are so fat the grease may put out the fire. Your house must be badly
furnished if it can't give its master all he wants to warm him."

The victim uttered a sharp cry, as if he hoped someone would hear him
through the ceiling and come to his assistance.

"Ho! sing away, Monsieur d'Orgemont; they are all asleep upstairs, and
Marche-a-Terre is just behind me; he'll shut the cellar door."

While speaking Pille-Miche was sounding with the butt-end of his musket
the mantel-piece of the chimney, the tiles of the floor, the walls and
the ovens, to discover, if possible, where the miser hid his gold. This
search was made with such adroitness that d'Orgemont kept silence, as if
he feared to have been betrayed by some frightened servant; for, though
he trusted his secrets to no one, his habits gave plenty of ground for
logical deductions. Pille-Miche turned several times sharply to look
at his victim, as children do when they try to guess, by the conscious
expression of the comrade who has hidden an article, whether they are
nearer to or farther away from it. D'Orgemont pretended to be alarmed
when the Chouan tapped the ovens, which sounded hollow, and seemed to
wish to play upon his eager credulity. Just then three other Chouans
rushed down the steps and entered the kitchen. Seeing Marche-a-Terre
among them Pille-Miche discontinued his search, after casting upon
d'Orgemont a look that conveyed the wrath of his balked covetousness.

"Marie Lambrequin has come to life!" cried Marche-a-Terre, proclaiming
by his manner that all other interests were of no account beside this
great piece of news.

"I'm not surprised," said Pille-Miche, "he took the sacrament so often;
the good God belonged to him."

"Ha! ha!" observed Mene-a-Bien, "that didn't stand him in anything
at his death. He hadn't received absolution before the affair at La
Pelerine. He had cheapened Goguelu's daughter, and was living in mortal
sin. The Abbe Gudin said he'd have to roam round two month