The mother rose, with new life; there was some one there. It seemed to her that now she had some one to speak to; she had just relieved her thirst and prayed; her strength returned, she began to ascend the slope in the direction from which she had heard that enormous distant voice.

  Suddenly, she saw rising from the extreme edge of the horizon, a tall tower. The tower stood alone in this wild landscape; a ray from the setting sun lighted it up. She was more than a league away from it. Behind this tower, a wide expanse of verdure lost itself in the haze; this was the forest of Fougères.

  This tower appeared to her to he on the very point of the horizon from which had come that roaring voice that seemed to her like a call. Had this tower made the noise?

  Michelle Fléchard reached the top of the pleateau; she had nothing more before her except the plain. She walked toward the tower.

  CHAPTER VI.

  THE SITUATION.

  The moment had come.

  The inexorable held the merciless.

  Cimourdain had Lantenac in his grasp.

  The old Royalist rebel was taken in his ancestral seat, it was evident that he could not escape; and Cimourdain intended to have the marquis beheaded at his own home, on the spot, on his own territory, and in a certain sense in his own house, in order that the feudal dwelling should see the head of the feudal master fall, and that it might be a memorable example.

  This is why he had sent to Fougères for the guillotine. It has just been seen on the way.

  To kill Lantenace was to kill la Vendée; to kill la Vendée was to save France. Cimourdain did not hesitate. This man was familiar with the cruelty of duty.

  The marquis seemed to be lost; in regard to this, Cimourdain felt easy, but in another respect he was anxious. The struggle would certainly be a frightful one; Gauvain would direct it, and would perhaps desire to take part in it; there was something of the soldier in this young chief; he was a man to throw himself into this hand-to hand encounter; supposing he should be killed? Gauvain! his child! the sole affection that he had on earth! Gauvain had been fortunate thus far, but good fortune becomes weary. Cimourdain trembled. His destiny was strange in this respect, that he was between two Gauvains, one of whom he wished to die, the other to live.

  The cannon shot which had disturbed Georgette in her basket and called the mother out of the depths of solitude had done more than that. Whether it was by chance or from the intention of the gunner, the ball, which, however was only a ball of warning, had struck, broken, and half torn away the iron bars which masked and closed the great loophole in the first story of the tower. The besieged had not had time to repair this injury.

  The besieged were boastful. They had very little ammunition. Their situation, we insist, was even more critical than the besiegers supposed. If they had had enough powder they would have blown up la Tourgue, with themselves and the enemy in it; this was their dream; but all their reserves were exhausted. They had hardly thirty shots apiece. They had plenty of guns, blunderbusses and pistols, and but few cartridges. They had loaded all their arms, in order to be able to keep up a continuous fire; but how long would this fire last? It would be necessary to use it lavishly and to husband it at the same time. Here was the difficulty

  Fortunately,—ominous good fortune,—the contest would be principally man to man, and with side-arms, with sabre and dagger. There would be more hand-to-hand fighting than shooting. They would cut each other to pieces; this was what they hoped for.

  The interior of the tower seemed impregnable. In the lower hall where the breach penetrated was the retirade, that barricade scientifically constructed by Lantenac, which obstructed the entrance. Behind the retirade, a long table was covered with loaded arms,—blunderbusses, carbines, and muskets, and with sabres, axes, and daggers As they had no powder to blow up the tower, they were unable to make use of the crypt of the oubliette communicating with the lower hall, and the marquis had ordered the door to this vault to be closed.

  Above the lower hall was the round room of the first story, which could only be reached by a very narrow Saint-Gilles's staircase; this room, furnished like the lower hall with a table covered with arms all ready for use, was lighted by the large loophole, the grating of which had just been smashed by a cannon ball; above this room the spiral staircase led to the round room in the second story, where the iron door opened into the bridge-châtelet.

  This room in the second story was called both the "room with the iron door" and the "room of mirrors," on account of the number of little mirrors hung up on old rusty nails against the bare stone, a strange mixture of elegance and barbarism. As upper rooms cannot be defended to advantage, this room of mirrors was what Manesson-Mallet, the authority on fortified places, calls "the last post where the besieged can capitulate."

  As we have already said, it was important to prevent the besiegers from reaching this room.

  This round room in the second story was lighted by loop-holes; but a torch was burning there. This torch, placed in an iron cresset like the one in the lower hall, had been lighted by l'Imânus, who had placed the end of the sulphur slow-match close beside it. Terrible foresight.

  At the end of the lower hall, on a long table made of boards, there was food, as in a Homeric cavern: large plates of rice; of "fur," which is a porridge of buckwheat; of "godnivelle," a hash of veal; rolls of "houichepote," a paste made of flower and fruit cooked in water; and jugs of cider. Any one who wished could eat and drink.

  The firing of the cannon put them all on guard. They had only half an hour more before them. L'Imânus, from the top of the tower, was watching the approach of the besiegers. Lantenac had commanded them not to fire, and to let them draw near. He had said,—

  "There are four thousand, five hundred of them. It is useless to kill them outside. Don't kill until they are inside. Once inside, we shall be equal."

  And he added, with a laugh, "Equality, Fraternity." It was agreed that when the enemy began to advance, L'Imânus should sound a note of warning from his horn.

  All, in silence, stationed behind the retirade or on the stairs, waited, with one hand on their muskets, the other on their rosaries.

  To sum up, this was the situation:

  For the assailants, a breach to penetrate; a barricade to storm; three halls, one above another, to take by main force, one by one; two winding staircases to carry, step by step, under a shower of fire. For the besieged—death.

  CHAPTER VII.

  PRELIMINARIES.

  Gauvain on his side, was arranging the attack. He gave his last instructions to Cimourdain, who, it will be remembered, without taking part in the action was to guard the plateau; and to Guéchamp, who was to wait with the main part of the army in the camp of the forest. It was understood that neither the masked battery in the woods nor the open battery on the plateau should fire, unless there was a sortie or an attempt to escape. Gauvain reserved for himself the command of the attacking column. This was what troubled Cimourdain.

  The sun had just set.

  A tower on an open field is like a ship on the open sea. It must be attacked in the same way. It is rather a boarding than an assault. No cannon. Nothing useless. What is the good of cannonading walls fifteen feet thick? A port-hole, some storming it, others passing it, axes, knives, pistols, fists, and teeth. This is what takes place.

  Gauvain felt that there was no other means of carrying la Tourgue. An attack where the combatants see the whites of each other's eyes is most deadly. He was familiar with the formidable interior of the tower, having lived there as a child. He was deep in thought.

  In the meantime, a few steps from him his lieutenant, Guéchamp, with a spyglass in his hand, was scrutinizing the horizon toward Parigné. Suddenly Guechamp exclaimed,—

  "Ah! at last!"

  This exclamation roused Gauvain from his reverie.

  "What is it, Guéchamp?"

  "Commander, there is the ladder."

  "The escape ladder?"

  "Yes."

  "What? Hasn't it come yet?"

  "No, commander. I was anxious about it. The express which I sent to Javené has returned."

  "I know it."

  "He announced that, in the carpenter's shop at Javené, he had found a ladder of the required length, that he had it requisitioned, that he had the ladder put on a wagon, that he obtained an escort of twelve horsemen, and that he had seen the wagon, the escort, and the ladder start for Parigné. After which he returned post haste."

  "And gave us this report, and he added that as the wagon was drawn by strong horses, and started about two o'clock in the morning, it would be here before sunset. I know all that. Well?"

  "Well, commander, the sun has just set and the wagon with the ladder has not yet come."

  "Is it possible? Nevertheless, we must begin the attack. The hour has come. If we delay, the besieged will think we are retreating."

  "Commander, you can begin the attack."

  "But we must have the escape ladder."

  "Of course."

  "But it is not here."

  "It is here."

  "How is that?"

  "That is why I said, 'Ah! at last!' The wagon had not come; I took my spyglass and examined the road from Parigné to la Tourgue, and, commander, I am satisfied. The wagon is yonder with the escort; it is coming down the slope. You can see it."

  Gauvain took his spyglass and looked.

  "To be sure. Here it is. There is not enough daylight left to make it all out. But I see the escort; that is plain enough. But the escort seems to me to be larger than you told me, Guéchamp."

  "It seems so to me, too."

  "They are about a quarter of a league away."

  "Commander, the escape ladder will be here in a quarter of an hour."

  "We can begin the attack."

  It was really a wagon which was coming, but it was not the one they thought.

  Gauvain, turning around, saw behind him Sergeant Radoub, erect, his eyes downcast, in attitude of military salute.

  "What is it, Sergeant Radoub?"

  "Citizen commander, we, the men of the battalion of Bonnet-Rouge, have a favor to ask of you."

  "What is it?"

  "To have us killed."

  "Ah!" said Gauvain.

  "Will you do us this kindness?"

  "But—that depends on circumstances," said Gauvain.

  "You see, commander, since the affair at Dol you have been careful of us. There are still twelve of us."

  "Well?"

  "This humiliates us."

  "You are the reserve."

  "We would rather be the advance-guard."

  "But I need you to decide the final success of an action. I hold you in reserve."

  "Too much so."

  "No matter. You are in the column, you march with it."

  "In the rear. Paris has the right to march ahead."

  "I will think about it. Sergeant Radoub."

  "Think about it to-day, commander. There is going to be an engagement. There will be a rough tripping-up, on one side or the other. It will be lively. La Tourgue will burn the fingers of those who touch it. We ask the privilege of being in the fight."

  The sergeant stopped short, twisted his moustache, and added in a different tone,—

  "And then you see, commander, our babies are in that tower. Our children are there, the children of the battalion, our three children. The terrible face of Gribouille-mon-cul-to-baise, of Brise-bleu, of l'Imanus, that Gouge-le-Bruand, that Bouge-le-Gruand, that Fouge-le-Truand, that thunderbolt of God, man of the devil, threatens our children. Our children, our little ones, commander. When the tower quakes and tumbles, we do not want any harm to come to them. Do you understand this, master? we do not want any harm to happen to them. Just now, I took advantage of the truce to go up on the plateau, and I saw them through a window; yes, they are really there, you can see them from the edge of the ravine and I saw them, and they were afraid of me, the darlings. Commander, if a single hair falls from the heads of those little cherubs, I swear a thousand times by all that is holy that I, Sergeant Radoub, that I will do something desperate. And this is what all the battalion say: 'We want the children saved, or we want to be all killed. This is our right, yes, to be all killed.' And now, good luck and reverence."

  Gauvain held out his hand to Radoub, and said,—

  "You are a brave man. You shall be in the attacking column. I will divide you. I will put six of you with the vanguard, that the troops may be sure to advance, and I will put six of you in the rearguard, to keep them from retreating."

  "Shall I still command the twelve?"

  "Certainly."

  "Thank you, commander. For I belong to the vanguard." Radoub saluted his commander and went back to the ranks.

  Gauvain took out his watch, spoke a few words in Guéchamp's ear, and the attacking column began to form.

  CHAPTER VIII.

  THE SUMMONS AND THE REPLY.

  In the meantime, Cimourdain, who had not yet taken up his position on the plateau and was still at Gauvain's side, stepped to a trumpeter.

  "Blow the trumpet," he said to him.

  The trumpet sounded, the horn replied.

  A blast from the trumpet and an answering blast from the horn rang out again.

  "What is it?" asked Gauvain of Guechamp. "What does Cimourdain want?"

  Cimourdain had approached the tower with a white handkerchief in his hand.

  He spoke.

  "Men who are in the tower, do you know me?"

  The voice of l'Imânus replied from the top of the tower,—

  "Yes."

  Then the two voices began to converse, and this was heard,—

  "I am the envoy of the Republic."

  "You are the former curé of Parigné."

  "I am the delegate of the Committee of Public Welfare."

  "You are a priest."

  "I am the representative of the Law."

  "You are a renegade."

  "I am the messenger of the Revolution."

  "You are an apostate."

  "I am Cimourdain."

  "You are the devil."

  "Do you know me?"

  "We hate you."

  "Would you be satisfied to have me in your power?"

  "There are eighteen of us here who would give our heads in exchange for yours."

  "Well, I have come to give myself up to you."

  From the top of the tower was heard a burst of savage laughter, and this exclamation,—

  "Come on."

  There was deep silence in the camp as they awaited the result.

  Cimourdain added,—

  "On one condition."

  "What is it?"

  "Listen."

  "Speak."

  "You hate me?"

  "Yes."

  "As for me, I love you. I am your brother."

  The voice from the top of the tower replied,—

  "Yes, Cain."

  Cimourdain replied with a singular inflection, both loud and gentle,—

  "Insult me, but listen, I have come to parley with you. Yes, you are my brothers. You are poor misguided men. I am your friend. I am light speaking to ignorance. Light always comprises brotherly love. Besides, have we not all the same mother, our native land? Well, listen to me. You will know later, or your children will know, or your children's children, that all that is taking place at this moment is done in fulfilment of the laws above, and that God has caused this Revolution. While waiting for the time when all minds, even yours, will understand this, and, all fanaticism, even yours will vanish, will any one pity your darkness? I have come to you to offer you my life; I do more, I extend my hand to you. I ask you the favor of destroying my life to save your own. I have full power, and what I say I am able to perform. It is a critical moment; I am making a last effort. Yes, he who speaks to you is a citizen, and in this citizen, yes, there is a priest. The citizen is fighting against you, but the priest implores you. Listen to me. Many of you have wives and children. I take the defence of your children and your wives. I take their defence against you. Oh, my brothers——"

  "Go on, preach away!" sneered l'Imânus.

  Cimourdain continued,—

  "My brothers, do not let the accursed hour come. There will be bloodshed here. Many of us who are here before you will not see to-morrow's sun; yes, many of us will perish, and you, all of you, will die. Have mercy on yourselves. Why shed all this blood when it is useless? Why kill so many men when two would suffice?"

  "Two?" said l'Imânus.

  "Yes. Two."

  "Who?"

  "Lantenac and myself."

  And Cimourdain raised his voice,—

  "Two men are enough; Lantenac, for us, myself for you. This is what I offer you, and it will be the saving of all your lives: give us Lantenac and take me. Lantenac will be guillotined, and you will have me to dispose of as you like."

  "Priest," howled l'Imânus, "if we had you we would burn you over a slow fire."

  "I am willing," said Cimourdain.

  And he added,—

  "You, condemned, who are in this tower can all be alive and free; in an hour I bring you safety. Do you accept it?"

  L'Imânus thundered,—

  "You are not only a villain; you are mad. Ah, indeed, why do you come to disturb us? who asked you to come to speak to us? we, give up monseigneur! what do you mean?"

  "His head, and I offer you—"

  "Your hide. For we would skin you like a dog. Curé Cimourdain. Well, no, your hide is not worth his head; get you gone."

  "The struggle will be terrible; once more, for the last time, reflect."

  Night fell during the exchange of these ominous words, which were heard inside the tower as well as without. The Marquis de Lantenac kept silent and let them alone. Leaders indulge in such portentous deeds of selfishness. This is one of the rights of responsibility. L'Imânus shouted to those beyond Cimourdain, exclaiming,—

  "Men who attack us, we have told you our propositions; they have been made, and we have nothing to change about them. Accept them; if not, woe be unto you! do you consent? we will give up the three children here, to you, and you shall let us all go free and unharmed."

  "All of you, yes," replied Cimourdain, "except one."