CHAPTER XXXIV
THE DIPLOMACY OF GEORGES CADOUDAL
The feeling that Roland experienced as he followed Georges Cadoudal
resembled that of a man half-awakened, who is still under the
influence of a dream, and returns gradually from the confines
which separate night from day. He strives to discover whether
the ground he walks on is that of fiction or reality, and the
more he burrows in the dimness of his brain the further he buries
himself in doubt.
A man existed for whom Roland felt a worship almost divine.
Accustomed to live in the atmosphere of glory which surrounded that
man, to see others obey his orders, and to obey them himself with
a promptness and abnegation that were almost Oriental, it seemed
amazing to him to encounter, at the opposite ends of France, two
organized powers, enemies of the power of that man, and prepared
to struggle against it. Suppose a Jew of Judas Maccabeus, a
worshipper of Jehovah, having, from his infancy, heard him called
the King of kings, the God of strength, of vengeance, of armies,
the Eternal, coming suddenly face to face with the mysterious
Osiris of the Egyptians, or the thundering Jupiter of the Greeks.
His adventures at Avignon and Bourg with Morgan and the Company
of Jehu, his adventures in the villages of Muzillac and the Trinité
with Cadoudal and his Chouans, seemed to him some strange initiation
in an unknown religion; but like those courageous neophytes who
risk death to learn the secrets of initiation, he resolved to
follow to the end.
Besides he was not without a certain admiration for these exceptional
characters; nor did he measure without a certain amazement these
revolted Titans, challenging his god; he felt they were in no
sense common men--neither those who had stabbed Sir John in the
Chartreuse of Seillon, nor those who had shot the bishop of Vannes
at the village of the Trinité.
And now, what was he to see? He was soon to know, for they had
ridden five hours and a half and the day was breaking.
Beyond the village of Tridon they turned across country; leaving
Vannes to the left, they reached Tréfléon. At Tréfléon, Cadoudal,
still followed by his major-general, Branche-d'Or, had found
Monte-à-l'assaut and Chante-en-hiver. He gave them further orders,
and continued on his way, bearing to the left and skirting the
edges of a little wood which lies between Grandchamp and Larré.
There Cadoudal halted, imitated, three separate times in succession,
the cry of an owl, and was presently surrounded by his three
hundred men.
A grayish light was spreading through the sky beyond Tréfléon
and Saint-Nolf; it was not the rising of the sun, but the first
rays of dawn. A heavy mist rose from the earth and prevented
the eye from seeing more than fifty feet beyond it.
Cadoudal seemed to be expecting news before risking himself further.
Suddenly, about five hundred paces distant, the crowing of a
cock was heard. Cadoudal pricked up his ears; his men looked at
each other and laughed.
The cock crowed again, but nearer.
"It is he," said Cadoudal; "answer him."
The howling of a dog came from within three feet of Roland, but
so perfectly imitated that the young man, although aware of what
it was, looked about him for the animal that was uttering such
lugubrious plaints. Almost at the same moment he saw a man coming
rapidly through the mist, his form growing more and more distinct
as he approached. The new-comer saw the two horsemen, and went
toward them.
Cadoudal rode forward a few paces, putting his finger to his lips,
as if to request the man to speak low. The latter, therefore,
did not pause until he was close beside his general.
"Well, Fleur-d'épine," asked Georges, "have we got them?"
"Like a mouse in a trap; not one can re-enter Vannes, if you say
the word."
"I desire nothing better. How many are there?"
"One hundred men, commanded by the general himself."
"How many wagons?"
"Seventeen."
"When did they start?"
"They must be about a mile and three-quarters from here."
"What road have they taken?"
"Grandchamp to Vannes."
"So that, if I deploy from Meucon to Plescop--"
"You'll bar the way."
"That's all."
Cadoudal called his four lieutenants, Chante-en-hiver,
Monte-à-l'assaut, Fend-l'air, and La Giberne, to him, gave each
of them fifty men, and each with his men disappeared like shadows
in the heavy mist, giving the well-known hoot, as they vanished.
Cadoudal was left with a hundred men, Branche-d'Or and Fleur-d'épine.
He returned to Roland.
"Well, general," said the latter, "is everything satisfactory?"
"Yes, colonel, fairly so," replied the Chouan; "but you can judge
for yourself in half an hour."
"It will be difficult to judge of anything in that mist."
Cadoudal looked about him.
"It will lift in half an hour," said he. "Will you utilize the
time by eating a mouthful and drinking a glass?"
"Faith!" said the young man, "I must admit that the ride has
hollowed me."
"I make a point," said Georges, "of eating the best breakfast
I can before fighting."
"Then you are going to fight?"
"I think so."
"Against whom?"
"Why, the Republicans, and as we have to do with General Hatry,
I doubt if he surrenders without resistance."
"Do the Republicans know they are going to fight you?"
"They haven't the least idea."
"So it is to be a surprise?"
"Not exactly, inasmuch as when the fog lifts they will see us
as soon as we see them." Then, turning to the man who seemed
to be in charge of the provisions, Cadoudal added, "Brise-Bleu,
is there anything for breakfast?"
Brise-Bleu nodded affirmatively, went into the wood, and came out
dragging after him a donkey loaded with two baskets. He spread a
cloak on a rise of the ground, and placed on it a roast chicken,
a bit of cold salt pork, some bread and buckwheat cakes. This
time Brise-Bleu had provided luxury in the shape of a bottle
of wine and a glass.
Cadoudal motioned Roland to the table and the improvised repast.
The young man sprang from his horse, throwing the bridle to a
Chouan. Cadoudal did likewise.
"Now," said the latter, turning to his men, "you have half an
hour to do as we do. Those who have not breakfasted in half an
hour are notified that they must fight on empty stomachs."
The invitation seemed equivalent to an order, so promptly and
precisely was it executed. Every man pulled from his bag or his
pocket a bit of bread or a buckwheat cake, and followed the example
of his general, who had already divided the chicken between Roland
and himself. As there was but one glass, both officers shared it.
While they were thus breakfasting, side by side, like two friends
on a hunt, the sun rose, and, as Cadoudal had predicted, the
mist became less and less dense. Soon the nearest trees could
be distinguished; then the line of the woods, stretching to the
right from Meucon to Grand-champ, while to the left the plain of
Plescop, threaded by a rivulet, sloped gradually toward Vannes.
This natural declivity of the ground became more and more perceptible
as it neared the ocean.
On the road from Grandchamp to Plescop, a line of wagons were
now visible, the tail of which was still hidden in the woods.
This line was motionless; evidently some unforeseen obstacle
had stopped it.
In fact, about a quarter of a mile before the leading wagon they
perceived the two hundred Chouans, under Monte-à-l'assaut,
Chante-en-hiver, Fend-l'air, and Giberne, barring the way.
The Republicans, inferior in number--we said that there were but
a hundred--had halted and were awaiting the complete dispersion
of the fog to determine the number and character of the men they
were about to meet. Men and wagons were now in a triangle, of
which Cadoudal and his hundred men formed one of the angles.
At sight of this small number of men thus surrounded by triple
forces, and of the well-known uniform, of which the color had
given its name to the Republican forces, Roland sprang hastily to
his feet. As for Cadoudal, he remained where he was, nonchalantly
finishing his meal. Of the hundred men surrounding the general,
not one seemed to perceive the spectacle that was now before their
eyes; it seemed almost as if they were waiting for Cadoudal's
order to look at it.
Roland had only to cast his eyes on the Republicans to see that
they were lost. Cadoudal watched the various emotions that succeeded
each other on the young man's face.
"Well," asked the Chouan, after a moment's silence, "do you think
my dispositions well taken?"
"You might better say your precautions, general," replied Roland,
with a sarcastic smile.
"Isn't it the First Consul's way to make the most of his advantages
when he gets them?" asked Cadoudal.
Roland bit his lips; then, instead of replying to the royalist
leader's question, he said: "General, I have a favor to ask which
I hope you will not refuse."
"What is it?"
"Permission to let me go and be killed with my comrades."
Cadoudal rose. "I expected that request," he said.
"Then you will grant it?" cried Roland, his eyes sparkling with joy.
"Yes; but, first, I have a favor to ask of you," said the royalist
leader, with supreme dignity.
"Ask it, sir."
"To bear my flag of truce to General Hatry."
"For what purpose?"
"I have several proposals to make to him before the fight begins."
"I presume that among those proposals which you deign to intrust
to me you do not include that of laying down his arms?"
"On the contrary, colonel, you understand that that is the first
of my proposals."
"General Hatry will refuse it."
"That is probable."
"And then?"
"Then I shall give him his choice between two others, either
of which he can, I think, accept without forfeiting his honor."
"What are they?"
"I will tell you in due time. Begin with the first."
"State it."
"General Hatry and his hundred men are surrounded by a triple
force. I offer them their lives; but they must lay down their
arms, and make oath not to serve again in the Vendée for five
years."
Roland shook his head.
"Better that than to see his men annihilated."
"Maybe so; but he would prefer to have his men annihilated, and
be annihilated with them."
"Don't you think," asked Cadoudal, laughing, "that it might be
as well, in any case, to ask him?"
"True," said Roland.
"Well, colonel, be so good as to mount your horse, make yourself
known to him, and deliver my proposal."
"Very well," replied Roland.
"The colonel's horse," said Cadoudal, motioning to the Chouan
who was watching it. The man led it up. The young man sprang
upon it, and rapidly covered the distance which separated him
from the convoy.
A group of men were gathered on its flank, evidently composed of
General Hatry and his officers. Roland rode toward them, scarcely
three gunshots distant from the Chouans. General Hatry's astonishment
was great when he saw an officer in the Republican uniform
approaching him. He left the group and advanced three paces to
meet the messenger.
Roland made himself known, related how he came to be among the
Whites, and transmitted Cadoudal's proposal to General Hatry.
As he has foreseen, the latter refused it. Roland returned to
Cadoudal with a proud and joyful heart. "He refuses!" he cried,
as soon as his voice could be heard.
Cadoudal gave a nod that showed he was not surprised by the refusal.
"Then, in that case," he answered, "go back with my second
proposition. I don't wish to have anything to reproach myself
with in answering to such a judge of honor as you."
Roland bowed. "What is the second proposition?"
"General Hatry shall meet me in the space that separates the two
troops, he shall carry the same arms as I--that is, his sabre and
pistols--and the matter shall be decided between us. If I kill
him, his men are to submit to the conditions already named, for
we cannot take prisoners; if he kills me his men shall pass free
and be allowed to reach Vannes safely. Come, I hope that's a
proposition you would accept, colonel?"
"I would accept it myself," replied Roland.
"Yes," exclaimed Cadoudal, "but you are not General Hatry. Content
yourself with being a negotiator this time, and if this proposition,
which, if I were he, I wouldn't let escape me, does not please
him, come to me. I'm a good fellow, and I'll make him a third."
Roland rode off a second time; his coming was awaited by the
Republicans with visible impatience. He transmitted the message
to General Hatry.
"Citizen," replied the general, "I must render account of my
conduct to the First Consul. You are his aide-de-camp, and I
charge you on your return to Paris to bear testimony on my behalf
to him. What would you do in my place? Whatever you would do,
that I shall do."
Roland started; his face assumed the grave expression of a man
who is arguing a point of honor in his own mind. Then, at the
end of a few seconds, he said: "General, I should refuse."
"Your reasons, citizen?" demanded the general.
"The chances of a duel are problematic; you cannot subject the
fate of a hundred brave men to a doubtful chance. In an affair
like this, where all are concerned, every man had better defend
his own skin as best he can."
"Is that your opinion, colonel?"
"On my honor."
"It is also mine; carry my reply to the royalist general."
Roland galloped back to Cadoudal, and delivered General Hatry's
reply.
Cadoudal smiled. "I expected it," he said.
"You couldn't have expected it, because it was I who advised him
to make it."
"You thought differently a few moments ago."
"Yes; but you yourself reminded me that I was not General Hatry.
Come, what is your third proposition?" said Roland impatiently;
for he began to perceive, or rather he had perceived from the
beginning, that the noble part in the affair belonged to the
royalist general.
"My third proposition," said Cadoudal, "is not a proposition
but an order; an order for two hundred of my men to withdraw.
General Hatry has one hundred men; I will keep one hundred. My
Breton forefathers were accustomed to fight foot to foot, breast
to breast, man to man, and oftener one to three than three to
one. If General Hatry is victorious, he can walk over our bodies
and tranquilly enter Vannes; if he is defeated, he cannot say
it is by numbers. Go, Monsieur de Montrevel, and remain with
your friends. I give them thus the advantage of numbers, for you
alone are worth ten men."
Roland raised his hat.
"What are you doing, sir?" demanded Cadoudal.
"I always bow to that which is grand, general; I bow to you."
"Come, colonel," said Cadoudal, "a last glass of wine; let each
of us drink to what we love best, to that which we grieve to
leave behind, to that we hope to meet in heaven."
Taking the bottle and the one glass, he filled it half full,
and offered it to Roland. "We have but one glass, Monsieur de
Montrevel; drink first."
"Why first?"
"Because, in the first place, you are my guest, and also because
there is a proverb that whoever drinks after another knows his
thought." Then, he added, laughing: "I want to know your thought,
Monsieur de Montrevel."
Roland emptied the glass and returned it to Cadoudal. The latter
filled his glass half full, as he bad done for Roland, and emptied
it in turn.
"Well," asked Roland, "now do you know my thought, general?"
"My thought," said Roland, with his usual frankness, "is that
you are a brave man, general. I shall feel honored if, at this
moment when we are going to fight against each other, you will
give me your hand."
The two young men clasped hands, more like friends parting for a
long absence than two enemies about to meet on the battlefield.
There was a simple grandeur, full of majesty, in this action.
Each raised his hat.
"Good luck!" said Roland to Cadoudal; "but allow me to doubt
it. I must even confess that it is from my lips, not my heart."
"God keep you, sir," said Cadoudal, "and I hope that my wish
will be realized. It is the honest expression of my thoughts."
"What is to be the signal that you are ready?" inquired Roland.
"A musket shot fired in the air, to which you will reply in the
same way."
"Very good, general," replied Roland. And putting his horse to
a gallop, he crossed the space between the royalist general and
the Republican general for the third time.
"Friends," said Cadoudal, pointing to Roland, "do you see that
young man?"
All eyes were bent upon Roland. "Yes," came from every mouth.
"He came with a safe-guard from our brothers in the Midi; his life
is sacred to you; he may be captured, but it must be living--not
a hair of his head must be touched."
"Very good, general," replied the Chouans.
"And now, my friends, remember that you are the sons of those
thirty Bretons who fought the thirty British between Ploermel
and Josselin, ten leagues from here, and conquered them." Then,
in a low voice, he added with a sigh, "Unhappily we have not
to do with the British this time."
The fog had now lifted completely, and, as usually happens, a
few rays of the wintry sun tinged the plain of Plescop with a
yellow light.
It was easy therefore to distinguish the movements of the two
troops. While Roland was returning to the Republicans, Branche-d'Or
galloped toward the two hundred men who were blocking the way.
He had hardly spoken to Cadoudal's four lieutenants before a
hundred men were seen to wheel to the right and a hundred more
to wheel to the left and march in opposite directions, one toward
Plumergat, the other toward Saint-Ave, leaving the road open.
Each body halted three-quarters of a mile down the road, grounded
arms and remained motionless. Branche-d'Or returned to Cadoudal.
"Have you any special orders to give me, general?" he asked.
"Yes, one," answered Cadoudal, "take eight men and follow me.
When you see the young Republican, with whom I breakfasted, fall
under his horse, fling yourself upon him, you and your eight men,
before he has time to free himself, and take him prisoner."
"Yes, general."
"You know that I must have him safe and sound."
"That's understood, general"
"Choose your eight men. Monsieur de Montrevel once captured, and
his parole given, you can do as you like."
"Suppose he won't give his parole?"
"Then you must surround him so that he can't escape, and watch
him till the fight is over."
"Very well," said Branche-d'Or, heaving a sigh; "but it'll be
a little hard to stand by with folded arms while the others are
having their fun."
"Pooh! who knows?" said Cadoudal; "there'll probably be enough
for every body."
Then, casting a glance over the plain and seeing his own men
stationed apart, and the Republicans massed for battle, he cried:
"A musket!"
They brought one. Cadoudal raised it above his head and fired
in the air. Almost at the same moment, a shot fired in the same
manner from the midst of the Republicans answered like an echo
to that of Cadoudal.
Two drums beating the advance and a bugle were heard. Cadoudal
rose in his stirrups.
"Children," he cried, "have you all said your morning prayers?"
"Yes, yes!" answered almost every voice. "If any of you forgot
them, or did not have time, let them pray now."
Five or six peasants knelt down and prayed.
The drums and bugle drew nearer.
"General, general," cried several voices impatiently, "they are
coming."
The general motioned to the kneeling peasants.
"True," replied the impatient ones.
Those who prayed rose one by one, according as their prayers
had been long or short. By the time they were all afoot, the
Republicans had crossed nearly one-third of the distance. They
marched, bayonets fixed, in three ranks, each rank three abreast.
Roland rode at the head of the first rank, General Hatry between
the first and second. Both were easily recognized, being the
only men on horseback. Among the Chouans, Cadoudal was the only
rider, Branche-d'Or having dismounted to take command of the
eight men who were to follow Georges.
"General," said a voice, "the prayer is ended, and every one is
standing."
Cadoudal looked around him to make sure it was true; then he cried
in a loud voice: "Forward! Enjoy yourselves, my lads!"
This permission, which to Vendéans and Chouans, was equivalent to
sounding a charge, was scarcely given before the Chouans spread
over the fields to cries of "Vive le roi!" waving their hats
with one hand and their guns with the other.
Instead of keeping in rank like the Republicans, they scattered
like sharpshooters, forming an immense crescent, of which Georges
and his horse were the centre.
A moment later the Republicans were flanked and the firing began.
Cadoudal's men were nearly all poachers, that is to say, excellent
marksmen, armed with English carbines, able to carry twice the
length of the army musket. Though the first shots fired might
have seemed wide of range, these messengers of death nevertheless
brought down several men in the Republican ranks.
"Forward!" cried the general.
The soldiers marched on, bayonets fixed; but in a few moments
there was no enemy before them. Cadoudal's hundred men had turned
skirmishers; they had separated, and fifty men were harassing
both of the enemy's flanks. General Hatry ordered his men to
wheel to the right and left. Then came the order: "Fire!"
Two volleys followed with the precision and unanimity of well
disciplined troops; but they were almost without result, for
the Republicans were firing upon scattered men. Not so with the
Chouans, who fired on a mass; with them every shot told.
Roland saw the disadvantage of the position. He looked around
and, amid the smoke, distinguished Cadoudal, erect and motionless
as an equestrian statue. He understood that the royalist leader
was waiting for him.
With a cry he spurred his horse toward him. As if to save him part
of the way, Cadoudal put his horse to a gallop. But a hundred feet
from Cadoudal he drew rein. "Attention!" he said to Branche-d'Or
and his companions.
"Don't be alarmed, general; here we are," said Branche-d'Or.
Cadoudal drew a pistol from his holster and cocked it. Roland,
sabre in hand, was charging, crouched on his horse's neck. When
they were twenty paces apart, Cadoudal slowly raised his hand
in Roland's direction. At ten paces he fired.
The horse Roland was riding had a white star on its forehead.
The ball struck the centre of that star, and the horse, mortally
wounded, rolled over with its rider at Cadoudal's feet.
Cadoudal put spurs to his own horse and jumped both horse and
rider.
Branche-d'Or and his men were ready. They sprang, like a pack
of jaguars, upon Roland, entangled under the body of his horse.
The young man dropped his sword and tried to seize his pistols,
but before he could lay hand upon the holsters two men had him
by the arms, while the four others dragged his horse from between
his legs. The thing was done with such unanimity that it was
easy to see the manoeuvre had been planned.
Roland roared with rage. Branche-d'Or came up to him and put his
hat in his hand.
"I do not surrender!" shouted Roland.
"Useless to do so, Monsieur de Montrevel," replied Branche-d'Or
with the utmost politeness.
"What do you mean?" demanded Roland, exhausting his strength in
a struggle as desperate as it was useless.
"Because you are captured, sir."
It was so true that there could be no answer.
"Then kill me!" cried Roland.
"We don't want to kill you, sir," replied Branche-d'Or.
"Then what do you want?"
"Give us your parole not to fight any more, and you are free."
"Never!" exclaimed Roland.
"Excuse me, Monsieur de Montrevel," said Branche-d'Or, "but that
is not loyal!"
"What!" shrieked Roland, in a fury, "not loyal! You insult me,
villain, because you know I can't defend myself or punish you."
"I am not a villain, and I didn't insult you, Monsieur de Montrevel;
but I do say that by not giving your word, you deprive the general
of nine men, who might be useful to him and who are obliged to
stay here to guard you. That's not the way the Big Round Head
acted toward you. He had two hundred men more than you, and he
sent them away. Now we are only eighty-nine against one hundred."
A flame crossed Roland's face; then almost as suddenly he turned
pale as death.
"You are right, Branche-d'Or," he replied. "Succor or no succor,
I surrender. You and your men can go and fight with your comrades."
The Chouans gave a cry of joy, let go their hold of Roland, and
rushed toward the Republicans, brandishing their hats and muskets,
and shouting: "Vive le roi!"
Roland, freed from their grip, but disarmed physically by his
fall, morally by his parole, went to the little eminence, still
covered by the cloak which had served as a tablecloth for their
breakfast, and sat down. From there he could see the whole combat;
not a detail was lost upon him.
Cadoudal sat erect upon his horse amid fire and smoke, like the
Demon of War, invulnerable and implacable.
Here and there the bodies of a dozen or more Chouans lay stretched
upon the sod. But it was evident that the Republicans, still
massed together, had lost double that number. Wounded men dragged
themselves across the open space, meeting, rearing their bodies
like mangled snakes, to fight, the Republicans with their bayonets,
and the Chouans with their knives. Those of the wounded Chouans
who were too far off to fight their wounded enemies hand to hand,
reloaded their guns, and, struggling to their knees, fired and
fell again.
On either side the struggle was pitiless, incessant, furious;
civil war--that is war without mercy or compassion--waved its
torch above the battlefield.
Cadoudal rode his horse around these living breastworks, firing
at twenty paces, sometimes his pistols, sometimes a musket, which
he discharged, cast aside, and picked up again reloaded. At each
discharge a man fell. The third time he made this round General
Hatry honored him with a fusillade. He disappeared in the flame
and smoke, and Roland saw him go down, he and his horse, as if
annihilated. Ten or a dozen Republicans sprang from the ranks
and met as many Chouans; the struggle was terrible, hand to hand,
body to body, but the Chouans, with their knives, were sure of
the advantage.
Suddenly Cadoudal appeared, erect, a pistol in each hand; it
was the death of two men; two men fell. Then through the gap
left by these ten or twelve he flung himself forward with thirty
men. He had picked up an army musket, and, using it like a club,
he brought down a man with each blow. He broke his way through
the battalion, and reappeared at the other side. Then, like a boar
which returns upon the huntsman he has ripped up and trampled, he
rushed back through the gaping wound and widened it. From that
moment all was over.
General Hatry rallied a score of men, and, with bayonets down,
they fell upon the circle that enveloped them. He marched at
the head of his soldiers on foot; his horse had been killed.
Ten men had fallen before the circle was broken, but at last he
was beyond it. The Chouans wanted to pursue them, but Cadoudal,
in a voice of thunder, called them back.
"You should not have allowed him to pass," he cried, "but having
passed he is free to retreat."
The Chouans obeyed with the religious faith they placed in the
words of their chief.
"And now," said Cadoudal, "cease firing; no more dead; make
prisoners."
The Chouans drew together and surrounded the heaps of dead, and
the few living men, more or less wounded, who lay among the dead.
Surrendering was still fighting in this fatal war, where on both
sides the prisoners were shot--on the one side, because Chouans
and Vendéans were considered brigands; on the other, because
they knew not where to put the captives.
The Republicans threw their guns away, that they might not be
forced to surrender them. When their captors approached them
every cartridge-box was open; every man had fired his last shot.
Cadoudal walked back to Roland.
During the whole of this desperate struggle the young man had
remained on the mound. With his eyes fixed on the battle, his hair
damp with sweat, his breast heaving, he waited for the result.
Then, when he saw the day was lost, his head fell upon his hands,
and he still sat on, his forehead bowed to the earth.
Cadoudal reached him before he seemed to hear the sound of footsteps.
He touched the young man's shoulder. Roland raised his head slowly
without attempting to hide the two great tears that were rolling
down his cheeks.
"General," said Roland, "do with me what you will. I am your
prisoner."
"I can't make the First Consul's ambassador a prisoner," replied
Cadoudal, laughing, "but I can ask him to do me a service."
"Command me, general."
"I need a hospital for the wounded, and a prison for prisoners;
will you take the Republican soldiers, wounded and prisoners,
back to Vannes."
"What do you mean, general?" exclaimed Roland.
"I give them, or rather I confide them to you. I regret that
your horse was killed; so is mine. But there is still that of
Brise-Bleu; accept it."
The young man made a motion of rejection.
"Until you can obtain another, of course," added Cadoudal, bowing.
Roland felt that he must put himself, at least in simplicity,
on a level with the man with whom he was dealing.
"Shall I see you again, general?" he asked, rising.
"I doubt it, sir. My operations call me to the coast near Port-Louis;
your duty recalls you to the Luxembourg."
"What shall I tell the First Consul, general?"
"What you have seen, sir. He must judge between the Abbé Bernier's
diplomacy and that of Georges Cadoudal."
"After what I have seen, sir, I doubt if you ever have need of
me," said Roland; "but in any case remember that you have a friend
near the First Consul."
And he held out his hand to Cadoudal. The royalist took it with
the same frankness and freedom he had shown before the battle.
"Farewell, Monsieur de Montrevel," said he, "I need not ask you
to justify General Hatry. A defeat like that is fully as glorious
as a victory."
During this time Brise-Bleu's horse had been led up for the
Republican colonel.
He sprang into the saddle.
"By the bye," said Cadoudal, "as you go through La Roche-Bernard,
just inquire what has happened to citizen Thomas Millière."
"He is dead," said a voice.
Coeur-de-Roi and his four men, covered with mud and sweat, had
just arrived, but too late for the battle.
Roland cast a last glance at the battlefield, sighed, and, waving
a last farewell to Cadoudal, started at a gallop across the fields
to await, on the road to Vannes, the wagon-load of wounded and
the prisoners he was asked to deliver to General Hatry.
Cadoudal had given a crown of six sous to each man.
Roland could not help reflecting that the gift was made with
the money of the Directory sent to the West by Morgan and the
Companions of Jehu.
