"In God's name, get rid of all these people!" de Flavigny heard him cry, striking out right and left. But thousands of terrified fugitives were not so easily to be disposed of, especially when all the passages were blocked up by the carts which they had brought with them. And on d'Hervilly's sending for the régiment du Dresnay to come in haste and turn them out, he learnt that his command could not be at once obeyed, since the regiment was dispersed securing provisions. The mixture of calamity and farce reached its climax when some of the invading fugitives cried out, "There are the Blues!" on which all who possessed muskets instantly fired them off in every direction, to the no small danger of everybody else. In fact, the Comte de Vauban, an officer of high rank, who was at the bottom of the revetments at the moment, had only just time to save himself by throwing himself off his horse. At last appeared, marching in good order, the Chouans of Tinténiac and Cadoudal, who had not broken, then their rearguard, and finally, a good distance behind, a hundred or so of Republican sharpshooters. A salvo from the fort dispersed these latter, and mingled with its echoes came the sound of the drums of du Dresnay, arriving to bring some order into this scene of confusion. And thus, at last, the crowd of fugitives was expelled, and driven down towards the southern extremity of the peninsula. During all this affair the Comte de Puisaye sat very composedly at his dinner. * * * * * When René de Flavigny was able to get free of the fort, thus carried by its own defenders, he went anxiously in search of his friend among the Chouan troops. He found him, but too busy to do more than exchange a word with him. "Hoche attacked all along our line with about thirteen thousand men," said La Vireville, wiping the sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand. "Ouf, what an infernal day for a retreat! Well, I am afraid we have brought you no welcome present in all these useless mouths!" "Why, oh why, were we not allowed to come to your support!" cried the Marquis. La Vireville shrugged his shoulders. "Why indeed! At any rate I see the lilies, as I had hoped, blooming on Fort Penthièvre. Only the gardener, you know, is not far off. . . ." Indeed, every émigré knew by nightfall that the victorious Republicans had established themselves in the important position of Ste. Barbe, a village which commanded the entry into the peninsula, where they could be seen feverishly working at entrenching themselves. The invaders were in danger of being penned, like trapped creatures, into that tongue of land on which they had attained a foothold. (2)