“You’d have been the first, Peter, to show a clean pair of heels yourself, if you’d been there,” said the landlord.

“Me show a clean pair of heels!  I didn’t run away at Saumur, nor yet at Fontenay, nor yet at many another pitched battle I saw.  I didn’t run away here at St. Florent, I believe, when a few of us took the barracks against a full regiment of soldiers.”

“You couldn’t well run then, for you were tied by the leg in the stable there.”

“No, I was not; it was only for a minute or two I was in the stable.  Would Cathelineau or Foret have turned their backs, think ye?  When I was alongside of those two men, I used to feel that the three of us were a match for the world in arms; and they had the same feeling too exactly.  Well, two of the three are gone, but I would sooner have followed them than have turned my back upon a blue.”

“You’re a great warrior, Peter, and it’s a pity you didn’t stay with the army.”

“Perhaps it is, perhaps it is.  Perhaps I shouldn’t have left it; but I was driven away by little jealousies.  Even great men have their failings.  But they certainly made some queer selections when they chose the twelve captains at Saumur.  There’s not one of them left with the army now but M. Henri, and what’s he but a boy?”

“He has done a man’s work at any rate!”

“He’s brave, there’s no denying that.  He’s very brave, but what then; there’s that impudent puppy of a valet of his, Chapeau; he’s brave too:  at least they say so.  But what’s bravery?  Can they lead an army? is there anything of the General about them?  Can they beat the blues?

“Didn’t he manage to beat the blues at Amaillou and at Coron, and at Durbelliere?  Faith, I think he has done nothing but beat them these three months.”

“There’s nothing of the General in him, I tell you.  Haven’t I seen him in battle now; he’s quite at home at a charge, I grant you; and he’s not bad in a breach; but Lord bless you, he can’t command troops.”

The landlord and his servant were still standing at the door of the inn, when the party for whom they were waiting made its appearance in the square of the town.  It consisted of a waggon, in which the wounded man was lying, of three or four men on horseback, among whom were Henri Larochejaquelin and the little Chevalier, and a crowd of men on foot, soldiers of the Vendean army, who had not left the side of their General since he had fallen at Cholet.

During the latter part of his journey, de Lescure had been sensible, and had suffered dreadfully both in mind and body.  He had never felt so confident of success as Henri and others had done, and had carried on the war more from a sense of duty than from a hope of restoring the power of the crown.  He now gave way to that despondency which so often accompanies bodily suffering.  He felt certain that his own dissolution was near, and on that subject his only anxiety was that he might see his wife before he died.