Adolphe Denot was one of the first of the Vendeans who entered the town through the gate.  This shewed no great merit in him, for, as has been said, the men who had made the first attack, and the republicans who opposed it, were carried into the town by the impulse of the men behind them; but still he had endeavoured to do what he could to efface the ineffable disgrace which he felt must now attach to him in the opinion of M. de Lescure.  As they were making their way up the principal street, still striking down the republicans wherever they continued to make resistance, but more often giving quarter, and promising protection, de Lescure with a pistol held by the barrel in his left hand, and with his right arm hastily tied up in the red handkerchief taken from a peasant’s neck, said to the man who was next to him, but whom he did not at the moment perceive to be Denot: 

“Look at Larochejaquelin, the gallant fellow; look at the red scarf on the castle wall.  I could swear to him among a thousand.”

“Yes,” said Adolphe, unwilling not to reply when spoken to, and yet ashamed to speak to de Lescure, “yes, that is Henri.  I wish I were with him.”

“Oh, that is you, is it?” said de Lescure, just turning to look at him, and then hurrying away.  But before he had moved on five paces, he returned, and putting his pistol into his girdle, gave Adolphe his left hand, and whispered to him: 

“No one shall ever hear of it, Adolphe,” said he, “and I will forget it.  Think of your Saviour in such moments, Adolphe, and your heart will not fail you again.”

The tears came into Denot’s eyes as de Lescure left him.  He felt that he must be despised; he felt grateful for the promise which had been given him, and yet he felt a kind of hatred for the man to whom he had afforded an opportunity of forgiving him.  He felt that he never could like de Lescure again, never be happy in his company; he knew that de Lescure would religiously keep his word, that he would never mention to human being that horrid passage at the bridge; but he knew also that it could never be forgotten.  Adolphe Denot was not absolutely a coward; he had not bragged that he would do anything which he knew it was contrary to his nature to do, when he told Agatha that he would be the first to place the white flag on the citadel of Saumur:  he felt then all the aspirations of a brave man; he felt a desire even to hurry into the thick of the battle; but he had not the assured, sustained courage to support him in the moment of extreme danger.  As de Lescure said, his heart failed him.