In spite of these agonizing cries, Pille-Miche saw that the fire did not yet scorch the skin; he drew the sticks cleverly together so as to make a slight flame. On this d’Orgemont called out in a quavering voice: “My friends, unbind me! How much do you want? A hundred crowns--a thousand crowns--ten thousand crowns--a hundred thousand crowns--I offer you two hundred thousand crowns!” The voice became so lamentable that Mademoiselle de Verneuil forgot her own danger and uttered an exclamation. “Who spoke?” asked Marche-a-Terre. The Chouans looked about them with terrified eyes. These men, so brave in fight, were unable to face a ghost. Pille-Miche alone continued to listen to the promises which the flames were now extracting from his victim. “Five hundred thousand crowns--yes, I’ll give them,” cried the victim. “Well, where are they?” answered Pille-Miche, tranquilly. “Under the first apple-tree--Holy Virgin! at the bottom of the garden to the left--you are brigands--thieves! Ah! I’m dying--there’s ten thousand francs--” “Francs! we don’t want francs,” said Marche-a-Terre; “those Republican coins have pagan figures which oughtn’t to pass.” “They are not francs, they are good louis d’or. But oh! undo me, unbind me! I’ve told you where my life is--my money.” The four Chouans looked at each other as if thinking which of their number they could trust sufficiently to disinter the money. The cannibal cruelty of the scene so horrified Mademoiselle de Verneuil that she could bear it no longer. Though doubtful whether the role of ghost, which her pale face and the Chouan superstitions evidently assigned to her, would carry her safely through the danger, she called out, courageously, “Do you not fear God’s anger? Unbind him, brutes!” The Chouans raised their heads and saw in the air above them two eyes which shone like stars, and they fled, terrified. Mademoiselle de Verneuil sprang into the kitchen, ran to d’Orgemont, and pulled him so violently from the crane that the thong broke. Then with the blade of her dagger she cut the cords which bound him. When the miser was free and on his feet, the first expression of his face was a painful but sardonic grin. “Apple-tree! yes, go to the apple-tree, you brigands,” he said. “Ho, ho! this is the second time I’ve fooled them. They won’t get a third chance at me.” So saying, he caught Mademoiselle de Verneuil’s hand, drew her under the mantel-shelf to the back of the hearth in a way to avoid disturbing the fire, which covered only a small part of it; then he touched a spring; the iron back was lifted, and when their enemies returned to the kitchen the heavy door of the hiding-place had already fallen noiselessly. Mademoiselle de Verneuil then understood the carp-like movements she had seen the miser making. “The ghost has taken the Blue with him,” cried the voice of Marche-a-Terre.