To tear them from their merry-making was a long and difficult task.

And to crown all, when they were finally induced to resume their line of march, it was impossible to persuade them to extinguish the pine knots which they had lighted to serve as torches.

Prayers and threats were alike unavailing.  “They wished to see their way,” they said.

Poor deluded creatures!  They had not the slightest conception of the difficulties and the perils of the enterprise they had undertaken.

They were going to capture a fortified city, defended by a numerous garrison, as if they were bound on a pleasure jaunt.

Gay, thoughtless, and animated by the imperturbable confidence of a child, they were marching along, arm in arm, singing patriotic songs.

On horseback, in the centre of the band, M. Lacheneur felt his hair turning white with anguish.

Would not this delay ruin everything?  What would the others, who were waiting at the Croix d’Arcy, think!  What were they doing at this very moment?

“Onward! onward!” he repeated.

Maurice, Chanlouineau, Jean, Marie-Anne, and about twenty of the old soldiers of the Empire, understood and shared Lacheneur’s despair.  They knew the terrible danger they were incurring, and they, too, repeated: 

“Faster!  Let us march faster!”

Vain exhortation!  It pleased these people to go slowly.

Suddenly the entire band stopped.  Some of the peasants, chancing to look back, had seen the lamps of Mlle. de Courtornieu’s carriage gleaming in the darkness.

It came rapidly onward, and soon overtook them.  The peasants recognized the coachman’s livery, and greeted the vehicle with shouts of derision.

M. de Courtornieu, by his avariciousness, had made even more enemies than the Duc de Sairmeuse; and all the peasants who thought they had more or less reason to complain of his extortions were delighted at this opportunity to frighten him.

For, that they were not thinking of vengeance, is conclusively proved by the sequel.

Hence great was their disappointment when, on opening the carriage-door, they saw within the vehicle only Mlle. Blanche and Aunt Medea, who uttered the most piercing shrieks.

But Mlle. de Courtornieu was a brave woman.

“Who are you?” she demanded, haughtily, “and what do you desire?”

“You will know to-morrow,” replied Chanlouineau.  “Until then, you are our prisoner.”

“I see that you do not know who I am, boy.”

“Excuse me.  I do know who you are, and, for this very reason, I request you to descend from your carriage.  She must leave the carriage, must she not, Monsieur d’Escorval?”

“Very well!  I declare that I will not leave my carriage; tear me from it if you dare!”

They would certainly have dared had it not been for Marie-Anne, who checked some peasants as they were springing toward the carriage.