His appearance was not very attractive when first he introduced himself to the republican, for he was lean with anxiety and worn with care; his eyes were restless and bloodshot, and his limbs trembled beneath him.  Santerre was not a man who much regarded externals; but, as he afterwards said, “he did not much like the hang-dog look of the royalist cur.”

Denot, in an awkward way, got through his story; he had been one of the insurgent Vendeans, he said, but he now wished to serve the Republic.  He was intimately acquainted with the royalist leaders, especially the two most popular of them, de Lescure and Larochejaquelin.  He knew and was willing to betray their plans.  He would accompany Santerre to the residences of these Vendean Generals, and undertake to give them, their families, and possessions, into the power of the republicans, and for these services he asked but one favour; that he should be present at the contemplated burning of Durbelliere, and be allowed to save the life of one female who resided there.  He represented that his animosity arose entirely from the rejection of his love, and that his only object was to carry off the sister of the Vendean chief from the burning ashes of her father’s chateau.

“Are you aware, young man,” said Santerre, with something of generosity in the warning which he gave—­a generosity probably inspired by the wine he had drunk:  “are you aware, that should I agree to your proposal, every other member of her family will be put to death before your eyes —­her brother, her old father, and every pestilent royalist we may find about the place?”

“I suppose they will,” said Denot moodily.  “At any rate, they deserve no protection at my hands.”

“You have probably eaten their bread and drank their wine.  You say, indeed, you have lived long in this rambling chateau, and have fought side by side with this hot-headed young brigand.  Bethink you, my friend, you are angry now, but it may turn your stomach, when you are cool, to see the blood of those you know so well running like water; besides, you are taking but an unlikely road to the heart of the girl you say you love.  No one has heard your plot but myself:  I advise you to abandon it; if you do so, I will forget that I have heard it.  You are angry now; go home and sleep on it.”

“Sleep on it!  I have slept on it these three weeks.  No, I did not come to you till I was fully resolved.  As for these people, I owe them nothing; they have scorned and rejected me; and as for the girl’s heart, it is not that I seek now.  Let me gain her person, and her heart will follow.  A woman soon learns to love him whom she is forced to obey.”

“Well, be it as you will,” said Santerre.  “It is all a matter of taste; only remember, that before I accede to your proposal, I must consult with my colleagues in the next room, and that when once I have spoken to them it will be too late for me to go back.”