sh. It is impossible to depict the anxiety betrayed
by Marie, or the interest of Hulot and his troops as they watched the
scene. They all, unconsciously or silently, repeated the gestures which
they saw the runners making. The Gars and Gudin reached the little wood
together, but as they did so the latter stopped and darted behind a
tree. About twenty Chouans, afraid to fire at a distance lest they
should kill their leader, rushed from the copse and riddled the tree
with balls. Hulot's men advanced at a run to save Gudin, who, being
without arms, retreated from tree to tree, seizing his opportunity as
the Chouans reloaded. His danger was soon over. Hulot and the Blues met
him at the spot where the marquis had thrown his musket. At this instant
Gudin perceived his adversary sitting among the trees and out of breath,
and he left his comrades firing at the Chouans, who had retreated behind
a lateral hedge; slipping round them, he darted towards the marquis with
the agility of a wild animal. Observing this manoeuvre the Chouans set
up a cry to warn their leader; then, having fired on the Blues and their
contingent with the gusto of poachers, they boldly made a rush for them;
but Hulot's men sprang through the hedge which served them as a rampart
and took a bloody revenge. The Chouans then gained the road which
skirted the fields and took to the heights which Hulot had committed the
blunder of abandoning. Before the Blues had time to reform, the Chouans
were entrenched behind the rocks, where they could fire with impunity on
the Republicans if the latter made any attempt to dislodge them.

While Hulot and his soldiers went slowly towards the little wood to
meet Gudin, the men from Fougeres busied themselves in rifling the
dead Chouans and dispatching those who still lived. In this fearful war
neither party took prisoners. The marquis having made good his escape,
the Chouans and the Blues mutually recognized their respective positions
and the uselessness of continuing the fight; so that both sides prepared
to retreat.

"Ha! ha!" cried one of the Fougeres men, busy about the bodies, "here's
a bird with yellow wings."

And he showed his companions a purse full of gold which he had just
found in the pocket of a stout man dressed in black.

"What's this?" said another, pulling a breviary from the dead man's
coat.

"Communion bread--he's a priest!" cried the first man, flinging the
breviary on the ground.

"Here's a wretch!"