“They have chosen their time, those hussars of the guillotine,” said one old woman; “they are making a fete of it.”

“Are you going to let ’em carry of your man like that?  How shall you manage to live for three months?—­the best of the year, too, when he could earn so much.”

“It’s they who rob us,” replied the woman, looking at the gendarmes with a threatening air.

“What do you mean by that, old woman?” said the sergeant.  “If you insult us it won’t take long to settle you.”

“I meant nothing,” said the old woman, in a humble and piteous tone.

“I heard you say something just now you may have cause to repent of.”

“Come, come, be calm, all of you,” said the mayor of Conches, who was also the postmaster.  “What the devil is the use of talking?  These men, as you know very well, are under orders and must obey.”

“That’s true; it’s the owner of Les Aigues who persecutes us—­ But patience!”

Just then the general rode into the square and his arrival caused a few groans which did not trouble him in the least.  He rode straight up to the lieutenant in command, and after saying a few words gave him a paper; the officer then turned to his men and said:  “Release your prisoners; the general has obtained their pardon.”

General Montcornet was then speaking to the mayor; after a few moments’ conversation in a low tone, the latter, addressing the delinquents, who expected to sleep in prison and were a good deal surprised to find themselves free, said to them:—­

“My friends, thank Monsieur le comte.  You owe your release to him.  He went to Paris and obtained your pardon in honor of the anniversary of the king’s restoration.  I hope that in future you will conduct yourself properly to a man who has behaved so well to you, and that you will in future respect his property.  Long live the King!”

The peasants shouted “Long live the King!” with enthusiasm, to avoid shouting, “Hurrah for the Comte de Montcornet!”

The scene was a bit of policy arranged between the general, the prefect, and the attorney-general; for they were all anxious, while showing enough firmness to keep the local authorities up to their duty and awe the country-people, to be as gentle as possible, fully realizing as they did the difficulties of the question.  In fact, if resistance had occurred, the government would have been in a tight place.  As Laroche truly said, they could not guillotine or even convict a whole community.

The general invited the mayor of Conches, the lieutenant, and the sergeant to breakfast.  The conspirators of the Grand-I-Vert adjourned to the tavern of Conches, where the delinquents spent in drink the money their relations had given them to take to prison, sharing it with the Blangy people, who were naturally part of the wedding,—­the word “wedding” being applied indiscriminately in Burgundy to all such rejoicings.  To drink, quarrel, fight, eat and go home drunk and sick, —­that is a wedding to these peasants.