the hat which covered the face, and fell into a chair.

"I suspected it!" he cried, crossing his arms violently; "she kept him,
cursed thunder! too long."

The soldiers stood about, motionless. The commandant himself unfastened
the long black hair of a woman. Suddenly the silence was broken by the
tramp of men and Corentin entered the guardroom, preceding four soldiers
who bore on their guns, crossed to make a litter, the body of Montauran,
who was shot in the thighs and arms. They laid him on the bedstead
beside his wife. He saw her, and found strength to clasp her hand with
a convulsive gesture. The dying woman turned her head, recognized her
husband, and shuddered with a spasm that was horrible to see, murmuring
in a voice almost extinct: "A day without a morrow! God heard me too
well!"

"Commandant," said the marquis, collecting all his strength, and still
holding Marie's hand, "I count on your honor to send the news of my
death to my young brother, who is now in London. Write him that if he
wishes to obey my last injunction he will never bear arms against his
country--neither must he abandon the king's service."

"It shall be done," said Hulot, pressing the hand of the dying man.

"Take them to the nearest hospital," cried Corentin.

Hulot took the spy by the arm with a grip that left the imprint of his
fingers on the flesh.

"Out of this camp!" he cried; "your business is done here. Look well at
the face of Commander Hulot, and never find yourself again in his way if
you don't want your belly to be the scabbard of his blade--"

And the older soldier flourished his sabre.

"That's another of the honest men who will never make their way," said
Corentin to himself when he was some distance from the guard-room.

The marquis was still able to thank his gallant adversary by a look
marking the respect which all soldiers feel for loyal enemies.

* * * * *

In 1827 an old man accompanied by his wife was buying cattle in the
market-place of Fougeres. Few persons remembered that he had killed
a hundred or more men, and that his former name was Marche-a-Terre. A
person to whom we owe important information about all the personages of
this drama saw him there, leading a cow, and was struck by his simple,
ingenuous air, which led her to remark, "That must be a worthy man."

As for Cibot, otherwise called Pille-Miche, we already know his end. It
is likely that Marche-a-Terre made some a