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 Fougeres.
I'm pledged to it in the name of Saint Anne of Auray."

"Who is he?" asked Pille-Miche.