Roland asked no better; he dug his spurs in his horse’s belly. At the clatter of horses’ hoofs the peasants scattered. There were five or six hundred of them at least, all armed. Cadoudal and Roland found themselves in a circle of light in the midst of cries and agitation. The crowd was pressing more particularly toward the opening of a street which led to the village of Tridon. A diligence was coming down that street escorted by a dozen Chouans; two on either side of the postilion, ten others guarding the doors. The carriage stopped in the middle of the market-square. All were so intent upon the diligence that they paid but scant attention to Cadoudal. “Hola,” shouted Georges. “What is all this?” At this well known voice, everyone turned round, and heads were uncovered. “The Big Round Head!” they murmured. “Yes,” said Cadoudal. A man went up to Georges. “Didn’t Bénédicité and Monte-à-l’assaut notify you?” he inquired. “Yes. Is that the diligence from Ploermel to Vannes that you are bringing back?” “Yes, general. It was stopped between Tréfléon and Saint-Nolf.” “Is he in it?” “We think so.” “Act according to your consciences; if it is a crime toward God, take it on yourselves; I take only the responsibility toward men. I will be present at what takes place; but I will not share in it--either to hinder or help.” “Well,” demanded a hundred voices, “what does he say, Sabre-tout?” “He says we must act according to our consciences, and that he washes his hands of it.” “Long live the Big Round Head!” cried all the people, rushing toward the diligence. Cadoudal remained motionless in the midst of this crowd. Roland stood near him, also motionless, but full of curiosity; for he was completely ignorant of who, or what, was in question. The man who had just spoken to Cadoudal, and whom his companions called Sabre-tout, opened the door. The travellers were huddled together and trembling in the darkness within. “If you have nothing to reproach yourselves with against God or the king,” said Sabre-tout in a full sonorous voice, “descend without fear. We are not brigands, we are Christians and royalists.” This declaration no doubt reassured the travellers, for a man got out, then two women, then a mother pressing her child in her arms, and finally another man. The Chouans examined them attentively as they came down the carriage steps; not finding the man they wanted, they said to each traveller, “Pass on.” One man alone remained in the coach. A Chouan thrust a torch in the vehicle, and by its light they could see he was a priest. “Minister of the Lord,” said Sabre-tout, “why did you not descend with the others? Did you not hear me say we were Christians and royalists?” The priest did not move; but his teeth chattered. “Why this terror?” continued Sabre-tout. “Does not your cloth plead for you? The man who wears a cassock can have done nothing against royalty or religion.” The priest crouched back, murmuring: “Mercy! mercy!”