“My country is the country of my adoption,” said Westerman.  “I ceased to be a German when I took up the arms of France; but my soldiers are my children, and an insult to them is an injury to myself.”

“If your anger can wait till the revolt in La Vendee has been quelled,” said Chouardin, “my friend Bourbotte will be ready enough to satisfy your wishes as a citizen.  Barrere truly says, this is no time for private quarrels.”

“So be it,” said Westerman.  “Let General Bourbotte remember that he owes me an apology or redress.”

“You shall have any redress, which any arms you may be pleased to name can give you,” said Bourbotte.

“By my honour then, you are two fools,” said Santerre; “two egregious fools, if you cannot at once forget the angry words which you each have used.  Have your own way, however, so long as you do not fight here.”

As the brewer was yet speaking, a servant knocked at the door, and said that a young man wished to say a few words to citizen Santerre on especial business, and on the service of the Republic.

“On the service of the Republic?” said Santerre.  “Show him in here then; I have no official secrets from my colleagues.”

The servant, however, stated that the young man would not make his appearance in the room where the party were sitting, and he declared he would go away if he could not see Santerre alone.  The republican at length yielded, and followed the servant into a small sitting-room, where he found our friend, Adolphe Denot.

CHAPTER VII

BATTLE OF AMAILLOU

It will be remembered that Adolphe Denot left the council-room of the royalist leaders at Saumur in anger; and that, after a few words with Henri Larochejaquelin, departed no one knew whither, or for what purpose.  On leaving Henri in the street, he had himself no fixed resolve as to his future conduct; he was only determined no longer to remain leagued with men, among whom he felt himself to be disgraced.  De Lescure had seen him hesitate in the hour of danger, and had encouraged him in vain; he knew that after this he could never again bear to meet the calm grey eye of his friend’s cousin; he had not only been not selected as one of the Generals, but he had even been rejected, and that by the very man who had seen his cowardice.  His love, moreover, had been refused by Agatha, and he deemed this refusal an injury which demanded vengeance from his hands; from the moment in which he left her room in Durbelliere, schemes had floated across his half-bewildered brain for the accomplishment of his object.  He still loved Agatha, though his love was, as it were, mingled with hatred; he still wished to possess her, but he did not care how disagreeable, how horrible to herself might be the means by which he accomplished his object.  He entertained ideas of seizing upon her person, taking her from Durbelliere,