t stone roll down wants his heart to serve as
the scabbard for my knife he'll do it again," said Marche-a-Terre, in a
low voice scarcely heard above the flowing of the river.

"It was I," said Pille-Miche.

"Well, then, old money-bag, down on your stomach," said the other, "and
wriggle like a snake through a hedge, or we shall leave our carcasses
behind us sooner than we need."

"Hey, Marche-a-Terre," said the incorrigible Pille-Miche, who was using
his hands to drag himself along on his stomach, and had reached the
level of his comrade's ear. "If the Grande-Garce is to be believed
there'll be a fine booty to-day. Will you go shares with me?"

"Look here, Pille-Miche," said Marche-a-Terre stopping short on the flat
of his stomach. The other Chouans, who were accompanying the two men,
did the same, so wearied were they with the difficulties they had met
with in climbing the precipice. "I know you," continued Marche-a-Terre,
"for a Jack Grab-All who would rather give blows than receive them when
there's nothing else to be done. We have not come here to grab dead
men's shoes; we are devils against devils, and sorrow to those whose
claws are too short. The Grande-Garce has sent us here to save the
Gars. He is up there; lift your dog's nose and see that window above the
tower."

Midnight was striking. The moon rose, giving the appearance of white
smoke to the fog. Pille-Miche squeezed Marche-a-Terre's arm and silently
showed him on the terrace just above them, the triangular iron of
several shining bayonets.

"The Blues are there already," said Pille-Miche; "we sha'n't gain
anything by force."

"Patience," replied Marche-a-Terre; "if I examined right this morning,
we must be at the foot of the Papegaut tower between the ramparts and
the Promenade,--that place where they put the manure; it is like a
feather-bed to fall on."

"If Saint-Labre," remarked Pille-Miche, "would only change into cider
the blood we shall shed to-night the citizens might lay in a good stock
to-morrow."

Marche-a-Terre laid his large hand over his friend's mouth; then an
order muttered by him went from rank to rank of the Chouans suspended
as they were in mid-air among the brambles of the slate rocks. Corentin,
walking up and down the esplanade had too practiced an ear not to hear
the rustling of the shrubs and the light sound of pebbles rolling down
the sides of the precipice. Marche-a-Terre, who seemed to possess the
gift of seeing in dark