"You double rustic! I charge you with speaking when I order you to hold your tongue! Head and bowels! Forward, or I shall knock you down!" cried the petty officer brutally, raising his cane; and stroking his moustache he proceeded: "Oh, there is the wedding! The bride may, perhaps, be worth rumpling! Bah! She probably is but one of their big flat-footed wenches! And yet, who knows! We shall see! Drummers, beat the march!" When Paskou the Long heard the sergeant's allusions to the bride, he raised his two long arms to heaven; Madok the miller, a resolute man, clenched his fists, and casting a defiant look at the soldier, was about to explode, when he was restrained by a sign from Salaun. Madok yielded to his friend, realizing that it would be an act of madness to attempt, under the circumstances, a struggle against the armed men. Surrounded by these, the three Bretons resigned themselves to move forward, leading their mounts by the bridle. The detachment resumed its march, drums beating and bell ringing, towards the nuptial procession. The sergeant walked ahead. Such was the terror with which the soldiers of Louis XIV inspired the poor folks of our country districts, that at the first sight of the red-coats the children threw themselves weeping into their mothers' arms; the young girls drew timidly close to their parents; and a good number of the vassals began to tremble, while the blacksmith and other determined men of his stamp could hardly control their anger. At this place the road was narrowed between two bluffs topped with brush. The detachment divided in two. One-half halted at the head of the procession in order to bar its passage, should it attempt to proceed; the other half marched on to the rear in order to cut off the retreat. Kept as hostages in the midst of the rear guard platoon, Salaun Lebrenn, Paskou the Long and Madok the miller were unable to approach their friends. Nominoë, with his wife on the crupper of his horse, saw with as much surprise as anxiety his father a prisoner of the soldiers. "Let none of you budge or breathe, ye rustics! If you do, by God's death! my men will open fire, and will rip you open with their bayonets!" cried Sergeant La Montagne, stepping with his cane raised towards the peasants, who crowded back upon one another in order to make room for him. Turning thereupon to the bailiff and the usher: "Do your work! I shall in the meantime step over to the bride and inspect her," added the swash-buckler, looking to the right and to the left. It did not take the sergeant long to discover the charming face of the bride, who, moreover, was recognizable by the nuptial ribbons, and was all the more in evidence being on horseback behind Nominoë. "God's blood! The handsome girl! The lassie is too dainty a morsel for that clod-hopping husband!" exclaimed the sergeant, and he took several steps to draw nearer to Tina.