"Turmeau and Cimourdain," added a townsman,--"a White priest and a Blue one." "And both of them black," remarked another townsman. The mayor, who stood on the balcony, lifted his hat as he cried,-- "Long live the Republic!" A roll of the drum made it known that the crier had not yet finished. He waved his hand. "Listen," he said, "to the last four lines of the Government proclamation. They are signed by the chief of the exploring column of the Côtes-du-Nord, Commander Gauvain." "Listen," cried voices in the crowd. The crier read,-- "Under penalty of death,--" All were silent. "--it is forbidden, in pursuance with the above, to lend aid or succor to the nineteen rebels herein named, who are at present shut up and besieged in the Tourgue." "What's that?" cried a voice. It was a woman's voice,--the voice of the mother. III. MUTTERINGS AMONG THE PEASANTS. Michelle Fléchard had mingled with the crowd. She had not listened, but some things one may hear without listening. She had heard the word "Tourgue," and raised her head. "What's that? Did he say La Tourgue?" People looked at her. The ragged woman seemed like one dazed. Voices were heard to murmur, "She looks like a brigand." A peasant woman, carrying a basket of buckwheat cakes, went up to her and whispered,-- "Keep still." Michelle Fléchard stared stupidly; again she had lost all power of comprehension. That name, "La Tourgue" passed like a flash of lightning, and night closed once more. Had she no right to ask for information? What made the people look at her so strangely? Meanwhile the drum had beaten for the last time, the bill-poster pasted up the notice, the mayor went back into the house, the crier started for some other village, and the crowd dispensed. One group was still standing in front of the notice. Michelle Fléchard drew near. They were commenting on the names of the outlaws. Both peasants and townsmen were there; that is to say, both Whites and Blues. "After all, they have not caught everybody," said a peasant. "Nineteen is just nineteen, and no more. They have not got Riou, nor Benjamin Moulins, nor Goupil from the parish of Andouillé." "Nor Lorieul, of Monjean," remarked another. And thus they went on:-- "Nor Brice-Denys." "Nor François Dudouet." "Yes, they have the one from Laval." "Nor Huet, from Launey-Villiers." "Nor Grégis." "Nor Pilon." "Nor Filleul." "Nor Ménicent." "Nor Guéharrée." "Nor the three brothers Logerais." "Nor Monsieur Lechandellier de Pierreville." "Idiots!" exclaimed a stern-looking, white-haired man. "They have them all, if they have Lantenac." "They have not got him yet," muttered one of the young fellows. "Lantenac once captured, the soul is gone. The death of Lantenac means death to the Vendée," said the old man. "Who is this Lantenac?" asked a townsman. "He is a ci-devant," replied another. And another added,-- "He is one of those who shoot women."