“Then you condemn this unhappy land to a war of extermination, general!” “It is a martyrdom to which I summon all Christians and royalists.” “General Brune is at Nantes with the eight thousand prisoners just returned to us by the English after their defeats at Alkmaar and Castricum.” “That is the last time they will have the chance. The Blues have taught us the bad habit of not making prisoners. As for the number of our enemies, we don’t care for that; it is a mere detail.” “If General Brune with his eight thousand men, joined to the twenty thousand he has received from General Hédouville, is not sufficient, the First Consul has decided to march against you in person with one hundred thousand men.” Cadoudal smiled. “We will try to prove to him,” he said, “that we are worthy to fight against him.” “He will burn your towns.” “We shall retire to our huts.” “He will burn your huts.” “We will live in the woods.” “Reflect, general.” “Do me the honor to remain here forty-eight hours, colonel, and you will see that my reflections are already made.” “I am tempted to accept.” “Only, colonel, don’t ask for more than I can give; a night’s sleep beneath a thatched roof or wrapped in a cloak under an oak tree, a horse to follow me, and a safe-guard when you leave me.” “I accept.” “Have I your word, colonel, that you will not interfere with any orders I give, and will do nothing to defeat the surprises I may attempt?” “I am too curious to see for that. You have my word, general.” “Whatever takes place before your eyes?” “Whatever takes place before my eyes, I renounce the rôle of actor and confine myself wholly to that of spectator. I wish to say to the First Consul: ‘I have seen.’” Cadoudal smiled. “Well, you shall see,” said he. At that moment the door opened, and two peasants brought in a table all laid, on which stood a smoking bowl of cabbage-soup and a piece of lard; an enormous pot of cider, just drawn from the cask, was foaming over the edges of the jug between two glasses. A few buckwheat cakes served as a desert to this modest repast. The table was laid for two. “You see, Monsieur de Montrevel, that my lads hoped you would do me the honor to sup with me.” “Faith! they were not far wrong. I should have asked for supper, had you not invited me; and I might have been forced to seize some had you not invited me.” “Then fall to!” The young colonel sat down gayly. “Excuse the repast I offer you,” said Cadoudal; “unlike your generals, I don’t make prize money; my soldiers feed me. Have you anything else for us, Brise-Bleu?” “A chicken fricassee, general.” “That’s your dinner, Monsieur de Montrevel.” “A feast! Now, I have but one fear, general.” “What is it?” “All will go well for the eating, but when it comes to drinking--” “Don’t you like cider? The devil! I’m sorry; cider or water, that’s my cellar.” “Oh! that’s not it; but whose health are we going to drink?”