of Hoche, the stability of
which he had always doubted, was at an end. The civil war, he felt,
was about to be renewed,--doubtless more terrible than ever after a
cessation of three years. The Revolution, mitigated by the events of the
9th Thermidor, would doubtless return to the old terrors which had made
it odious to sound minds. English gold would, as formerly, assist in the
national discords. The Republic, abandoned by young Bonaparte who had
seemed to be its tutelary genius, was no longer in a condition to resist
its enemies from without and from within,--the worst and most cruel
of whom were the last to appear. The Civil War, already threatened
by various partial uprisings, would assume a new and far more serious
aspect if the Chouans were now to attack so strong an escort. Such
were the reflections that filled the mind of the commander (though less
succinctly formulated) as soon as he perceived, in the condition of
Marche-a-Terre's clothing, the signs of an ambush carefully planned.

The silence which followed the prophetic remark of the commandant to
Gerard gave Hulot time to recover his self-possession. The old soldier
had been shaken. He could not hinder his brow from clouding as he felt
himself surrounded by the horrors of a warfare the atrocities of which
would have shamed even cannibals. Captain Merle and the adjutant Gerard
could not explain to themselves the evident dread on the face of their
leader as he looked at Marche-a-Terre eating his bread by the side of
the road. But Hulot's face soon cleared; he began to rejoice in the
opportunity to fight for the Republic, and he joyously vowed to escape
being the dupe of the Chouans, and to fathom the wily and impenetrable
being whom they had done him the honor to employ against him.

Before taking any resolution he set himself to study the position in
which it was evident the enemy intended to surprise him. Observing that
the road where the column had halted was about to pass through a sort of
gorge, short to be sure, but flanked with woods from which several paths
appeared to issue, he frowned heavily, and said to his two friends, in a
low voice of some emotion:--

"We're in a devil of a wasp's-nest."

"What do you fear?" asked Gerard.

"Fear? Yes, that's it, _fear_," returned the commandant. "I have always
had a fear of being shot like a dog at the edge of a wood, without a
chance of crying out 'Who goes there?'"

"Pooh!" said Merle, laughing, "'Who go