LITMIR.BIZ

Скачать книгу

very fat man, whose limbs were carefully bound before he had been left lying on the damp stone floor of the kitchen by those who had seized him. When he saw the new-comer approach him with a torch in one hand and a fagot of sticks in the other, the captive gave a dreadful groan, which so wrought upon the sensibilities of Mademoiselle de Verneuil that she forgot her own terror and despair and the cramped position of her limbs, which were growing numb. But she made a great effort and remained still. The Chouan flung the sticks into the fireplace, after trying the strength of an old crane which was fastened to a long iron bar; then he set fire to the wood with his torch. Marie saw with terror that the man was the same Pille-Miche to whom her rival had delivered her, and whose figure, illuminated by the flame, was like that of the little boxwood men so grotesquely carved in Germany. The moans of his prisoner produced a broad grin upon features that were ribbed with wrinkles and tanned by the sun.

      “You see,” he said to his victim, “that we Christians keep our promises, which you don’t. That fire is going to thaw out your legs and tongue and hands. Hey! hey! I don’t see a dripping-pan to put under your feet; they are so fat the grease may put out the fire. Your house must be badly furnished if it can’t give its master all he wants to warm him.”

      The victim uttered a sharp cry, as if he hoped someone would hear him through the ceiling and come to his assistance.

      “Ho! sing away, Monsieur d’Orgemont; they are all asleep upstairs, and Marche-a-Terre is just behind me; he’ll shut the cellar door.”

      While speaking Pille-Miche was sounding with the butt-end of his musket the mantel-piece of the chimney, the tiles of the floor, the walls and the ovens, to discover, if possible, where the miser hid his gold. This search was made with such adroitness that d’Orgemont kept silence, as if he feared to have been betrayed by some frightened servant; for, though he trusted his secrets to no one, his habits gave plenty of ground for logical deductions. Pille-Miche turned several times sharply to look at his victim, as children do when they try to guess, by the conscious expression of the comrade who has hidden an article, whether they are nearer to or farther away from it. D’Orgemont pretended to be alarmed when the Chouan tapped the ovens, which sounded hollow, and seemed to wish to play upon his eager credulity. Just then three other Chouans rushed down the steps and entered the kitchen. Seeing Marche-a-Terre among them Pille-Miche discontinued his search, after casting upon d’Orgemont a look that conveyed the wrath of his balked covetousness.

      “Marie Lambrequin has come to life!” cried Marche-a-Terre, proclaiming by his manner that all other interests were of no account beside this great piece of news.

      “I’m not surprised,” said Pille-Miche, “he took the sacrament so often; the good God belonged to him.”

      “Ha! ha!” observed Mene-a-Bien, “that didn’t stand him in anything at his death. He hadn’t received absolution before the affair at La Pelerine. He had cheapened Goguelu’s daughter, and was living in mortal sin. The Abbe Gudin said he’d have to roam round two months as a ghost before he could come to life. We saw him pass us,—he was pale, he was cold, he was thin, he smelt of the cemetery.”

      “And his Reverence says that if a ghost gets hold of a living man he can force him to be his companion,” said the fourth Chouan.

      The grotesque appearance of this last speaker drew Marche-a-Terre from the pious reflections he had been making on the accomplishment of this miracle of coming to life which, according to the Abbe Gudin would happen to every true defender of religion and the king.

      “You see, Galope-Chopine,” he said to the fourth man gravely, “what comes of omitting even the smallest duty commanded by our holy religion. It is a warning to us, given by Saint Anne of Auray, to be rigorous with ourselves for the slightest sin. Your cousin Pille-Miche has asked the Gars to give you the surveillance of Fougeres, and the Gars consents, and you’ll be well paid—but you know with what flour we bake a traitor’s bread.”

      “Yes, Monsieur Marche-a-Terre.”

      “And you know why I tell you that. Some say you like cider and gambling, but you can’t play heads or tails now, remember; you must belong to us only, or—”

      “By your leave, Monsieur Marche-a-Terre, cider and stakes are two good things which don’t hinder a man’s salvation.”

      “If my cousin commits any folly,” said Pille-Miche, “it will be out of ignorance.”

      “In any way he commits it, if harm comes,” said Marche-a-Terre, in a voice which made the arched roof tremble, “my gun won’t miss him. You will answer for him to me,” he added, turning to Pille-Miche; “for if he does wrong I shall take it out on the thing that fills your goatskin.”

      “But, Monsieur Marche-a-Terre, with all due respect,” said Galope-Chopine, “haven’t you sometimes taken a counterfeit Chouan for a real one.”

      “My friend,” said Marche-a-Terre in a curt tone, “don’t let that happen in your case, or I’ll cut you in two like a turnip. As to the emissaries of the Gars, they all carry his glove, but since that affair at La Vivetiere the Grande Garce has added a green ribbon to it.”

      Pille Miche nudged his comrade by the elbow and showed him d’Orgemont, who was pretending to be asleep; but Pille-Miche and Marche-a-Terre both knew by experience that no one ever slept by the corner of their fire, and though the last words said to Galope-Chopine were almost whispered, they must have been heard by the victim, and the four Chouans looked at him fixedly, thinking perhaps that fear had deprived him of his senses.

      Suddenly, at a slight sign from Marche-a-Terre, Pille-Miche pulled off d’Orgemont’s shoes and stockings, Mene-a-Bien and Galope-Chopine seized him round the body and carried him to the fire. Then Marche-a-Terre took one of the thongs that tied the fagots and fastened the miser’s feet to the crane. These actions and the horrible celerity with which they were done brought cries from the victim, which became heart-rending when Pille-Miche gathered the burning sticks under his legs.

      “My friends, my good friends,” screamed d’Orgemont, “you hurt me, you kill me! I’m a Christian like you.”

      “You lie in your throat!” replied Marche-a-Terre. “Your brother denied God; and as for you, you bought the abbey of Juvigny. The Abbe Gudin says we can roast apostates when we find them.”

      “But, my brothers in God, I don’t refuse to pay.”

      “We gave you two weeks, and it is now two months, and Galope-Chopine here hasn’t received the money.”

      “Haven’t you received any of it, Galope-Chopine?” asked the miser, in despair.

      “None of it, Monsieur d’Orgemont,” replied Galope-Chopine, frightened.

      The cries, which had sunk into groans, continuous as the rattle in a dying throat, now began again with dreadful violence. Accustomed to such scenes, the four Chouans looked at d’Orgemont, who was twisting and howling, so coolly that they seemed like travellers watching before an inn fire till the roast meat was done enough to eat.

      “I’m dying, I’m dying!” cried the victim, “and you won’t get my money.”

      In spite of these agonizing cries, Pille-Miche saw that the fire did not yet scorch the skin; he drew the sticks cleverly together so as to make a slight flame. On this d’Orgemont called out in a quavering voice: “My friends, unbind me! How much do you want? A hundred crowns—a thousand crowns—ten thousand crowns—a hundred thousand crowns—I offer you two hundred thousand crowns!”

      The voice became so lamentable that Mademoiselle de Verneuil forgot her own danger and uttered an exclamation.

      “Who spoke?” asked Marche-a-Terre.

      The Chouans looked about them with terrified eyes. These men, so brave in fight, were unable to face a ghost. Pille-Miche alone continued to listen to the promises which the flames were now extracting from his victim.

      “Five hundred thousand crowns—yes, I’ll give them,” cried the victim.

      “Well,

Скачать книгу