Amid the laughter, to which Pille-Miche responded like an echo,
Coupiau came down from his seat quite crestfallen. When the famous
Cibot, 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."