“If he wasn’t a young man,” thought Hulot, as he retreated step by step, “we shouldn’t have been attacked in this way. Who ever heard of the Chouans fighting an open battle? Well, all the better! they won’t shoot us off like dogs along the road.” Then, raising his voice till it echoed through the woods, he exclaimed, “Come on, my men! Shall we let ourselves be _fooled_ by those brigands?” The word here given is but a feeble equivalent of the one the brave commandant used; but every veteran can substitute the real one, which was far more soldierly in character. “Gerard! Merle!” added Hulot, “call in your men, form them into a battalion, take the rear, fire upon those dogs, and let’s make an end of this!” The order was difficult to obey, for the young chief, hearing Hulot’s voice, cried out: “By Saint Anne of Auray, don’t let them get away! Spread out, spread out, my lads!” and each of the two wings of the Blues was followed by Chouans who were fully as obstinate and far superior in numbers. The Republicans were surrounded on all sides by the Goatskins uttering their savage cries, which were more like howls. “Hold your tongues, gentlemen,” cried Beau-Pied; “we can’t hear ourselves be killed.” This jest revived the courage of the Blues. Instead of fighting only at one point, the Republicans spread themselves to three different points on the table-land of La Pelerine, and the rattle of musketry woke all the echoes of the valleys, hitherto so peaceful beneath it. Victory might have remained doubtful for many hours, or the fight might have come to an end for want of combatants, for Blues and Chouans were equally brave and obstinate. Each side was growing more and more incensed, when the sound of a drum in the distance told that the body of men must be crossing the valley of Couesnon. “There’s the National Guard of Fougeres!” cried Gudin, in a loud voice; “my man has brought them.”