Branche-d’Or looked at the young men before him with an air that left no doubt of his repugnance for a certain sort of pleasantry; but as the group had evidently no offensive intention, their gayety having no insolence about it, he said, with a tolerably gracious air: “Which of you gentlemen is captain? I have a letter for him from my captain.” Morgan advanced a step and said: “I am.” “Your name?” “I have two.” “Your fighting name?” “Morgan.” “Yes, that’s the one the general told me; besides, I recognize you. You gave me a bag containing sixty thousand francs the night I saw the monks. The letter is for you then.” “Give it to me.” The peasant took off his hat, pulled out the lining, and from between it and the felt he took a piece of paper which resembled another lining, and seemed at first sight to be blank. Then, with a military salute, he offered the paper to Morgan, who turned it over and over and could see no writing; at least none was apparent. “A candle,” he said. They brought a wax light; Morgan held the paper to the flame. Little by little, as the paper warmed, the writing appeared. The experience appeared familiar to the young men; the Breton alone seemed surprised. To his naive mind the operation probably seemed like witchcraft; but so long as the devil was aiding the royalist cause the Chouan was willing to deal with him. “Gentlemen,” said Morgan, “do you want to know what the master says?” All bowed and listened, while the young man read: MY DEAR MORGAN--If you hear that I have abandoned the cause, and am in treaty with the government of the First Consul and the Vendéan leaders, do not believe it. I am a Breton of Brittany, and consequently as stubborn as a true Breton. The First Consul sent one of his aides-de-camp to offer me an amnesty for all my men, and the rank of colonel for myself. I have not even consulted my men, I refused for them and for me. Now, all depends on us; as we receive from the princes neither money nor encouragement, you are our only treasurer; close your coffers, or rather cease to open those of the government for us, and the royalist opposition, the heart of which beats only in Brittany, will subside little by little, and end before long. I need not tell you that my life will have ended first. Our mission is dangerous; probably it will cost us our heads; but what can be more glorious than to hear posterity say of us, if one can hear beyond the grave: “All others despaired; but they, never!” One of us will survive the other, but only to succumb later. Let that survivor say as he dies: _Etiamsi omnes, ego non._ Count on me as I count on you. CADOUDAL. P.S.--You know that you can safely give Branche-d’Or all the money you have for the Cause. He has promised me not to let himself be taken, and I trust his word. A murmur of enthusiasm ran through the group, as Morgan finished the last words of the letter.