"Indeed, my clowns. You present your grievances?" proceeded the Count of Plouernel, thus admonished, with supreme disdain not unmixed with stupefaction. "So you have drawn up rules that it may please me to observe towards you! The grievances of this plebs must be droll to read!" "We have taken the liberty, monseigneur, to submit our grievances to you. We are at the end of our endurance; this must change! In short, we demand of you no longer to be treated worse than draft animals; we demand of you, monseigneur, no longer to be driven with sticks applied to our backs; we demand of you, monseigneur, no longer to be overwhelmed with taxes imposed at your _good pleasure_; we demand of you, monseigneur, no longer to be thrown into prison, whipped with switches, sent to the galleys, or hanged if we kill your stags, or your boars, when they enter our fields and ravage our crops; finally, we demand of you--but read the paper, monseigneur, and you will see that all we ask is Justice--read the Peasant Code! Accept it; it will not ruin you--far from it! But then at least, we and our families would no longer die of hunger, neither worse nor better than foundered horses! We shall still continue to work for you from dawn to dusk, monseigneur, you will still have the larger share, we the smaller;--but then you would allow us to live as the creatures of the good God should live! Accept the Peasant Code, monseigneur; sign it; be, then, faithful to your signature, and we will be faithful to our agreement--it will mean peace--a good peace for you and for our families." "Ho! Ho!" broke in the Count of Plouernel, whom the audacity of his vassals threw into all manner of wrathful transports. "So, then, if I accept your code, we shall have peace? Whence it follows that, in case I refuse--please complete your sentence!" "'Sdeath! It will then be war, monseigneur! And, take notice, it will then be your fault, not ours," answered Tankeru resolutely. "Finally, in order to cancel the whole bill, we demand of you that it may please you to set free three prisoners whom you are holding in the castle. You intend to have them hanged. Well, monseigneur, you must deliver them to us, if you please; they must be set free--without further delay. If not--" "If not?" cried the Count of Plouernel at the end of his patience. "If I refuse to set the prisoners free, what will you do? Please answer, miserable fellow! What will you do? I would like to know!" "'Sdeath! Monseigneur, we shall set them free ourselves! We shall open the war. It will be you who will have made the choice!" "This is too much!" cried the Count of Plouernel. But suddenly breaking off and listening to windward, he turned to the Abbot and asked: "Is not that the ringing of the tocsin that I hear from afar?"