“That is Foret, from St. Florent himself!” shouted the priest, rushing out towards the door, as soon as he saw the first horseman turn in at the gate; “a good man, and true as any living, and one who hates a skulking republican as he does the devil.”

“And that is the postillion himself, on the pony!” shouted Henri, running after him.  “I could swear to him, by his hat, among a thousand.”

“Who is the man on the mule, Adolphe?” said de Lescure, remaining at the window.  “By the bye,” he added, turning to the two girls who remained with him, and who were trembling in every joint, at they knew not what, “I forgot, in my hurry, or rather I hadn’t time as yet to tell Henri that I had heard that these men were coming here.”

“Are those the very men who gained the victory at St. Florent?” asked Marie.

“So we heard,” replied de Lescure, “and now, and not till now, I believe it; their coming here is strong confirmation; the Cure is right, it seems.”

“And is that man the good postillion of whom the people talk?”

“He is—­at least he is no longer a postillion.  He will cease to be a postillion now; from henceforth he will be only a soldier.”

The Cure and Larochejaquelin had rushed down the steps, and seized the hands of Foret and Cathelineau, as they got off their horses.  It was soon evident to them that the noise of their deeds had gone before them.  Foret at once returned the greeting of Father Jerome, for they had long known each other, and the difference between their stations was not so very great; but Cathelineau hardly knew how to accept, or how to refuse, the unwonted mark of friendship shewn him by a wealthy seigneur; it had not been his lot to shake hands with gentlemen, and he had no wish to step beyond his proper sphere, because he had been put prominently forward in the affair of St. Florent; but he had no help for it; before he knew where he was, Larochejaquelin had got him by the hand, and was dragging him into the salon of Durbelliere.  It appeared to the postillion that the room was full; there were ladies there too—­young, beautiful, and modest—­such as he was in the habit of seeing through the windows of the carriages which he drove; the old Marquis was there too now; the butler had just wheeled in his chair, and Cathelineau perceived that he was expected to join the group at once.  A vista was opened for him up to the old man’s chair; his eyes swam, and he hardly recollected the faces of the different people round him.  He wished that he had waited at the gate, and sent in for M. Henri; he could have talked to him alone.  Why had he ridden up so boldly to the chateau gate?  He had never trembled, for a moment, during the hot work at St. Florent, but now he felt that circumstances could almost make him a coward.

On a sudden he remembered that his hat was still on his head, and he snatched his hand out of Henri’s to remove it, and then, when it was off, he wanted to go back to the hall to put it down.