otherwise called Pille-Miche, helped his neighbor to get out of the
coach, a respectful murmur was heard among the Chouans.

"It is the Abbe Gudin!" cried several voices. At this respected name
every hat was off, and the men knelt down before the priest as they
asked his blessing, which he gave solemnly.

"Pille-Miche here could trick Saint Peter and steal the keys of
Paradise," said the rector, slapping that worthy on the shoulder. "If it
hadn't been for him, the Blues would have intercepted us."

Then, noticing the lady, the abbe went to speak to her apart.
Marche-a-Terre, who had meantime briskly opened the boot of the
cabriolet, held up to his comrades, with savage joy, a bag, the shape of
which betrayed its contents to be rolls of coin. It did not take long
to divide the booty. Each Chouan received his share, so carefully
apportioned that the division was made without the slightest dispute.
Then Marche-a-Terre went to the lady and the priest, and offered them
each about six thousand francs.

"Can I conscientiously accept this money, Monsieur Gudin?" said the
lady, feeling a need of justification.

"Why not, madame? In former days the Church approved of the confiscation
of the property of Protestants, and there's far more reason for
confiscating that of these revolutionists, who deny God, destroy
chapels, and persecute religion."

The abbe then joined example to precept by accepting, without the
slightest scruple, the novel sort of tithe which Marche-a-Terre offered
to him. "Besides," he added, "I can now devote all I possess to the
service of God and the king; for my nephew has joined the Blues, and I
disinherit him."

Coupiau was bemoaning himself and declaring that he was ruined.

"Join us," said Marche-a-Terre, "and you shall have your share."

"They'll say I let the coach be robbed on purpose if I return without
signs of violence."

"Oh, is that all?" exclaimed Marche-a-Terre.

He gave a signal and a shower of bullets riddled the turgotine. At this
unexpected volley the old vehicle gave forth such a lamentable cry
that the Chouans, superstitious by nature, recoiled in terror; but
Marche-a-Terre caught sight of the pallid face of the silent traveller
rising from the floor of the coach.

"You've got another fowl in your coop," he said in a low voice to
Coupiau.

"Yes," said the driver; "but I make it a condition of my joining you
that I be allowed to take that worthy man safe and sound to Fouger