"If he can come--that is, if there are no troops in the way at Touvois--I am to let him know." "Yes; but how?" "By a branch of holly with fifteen leaves upon it in the middle of the road half-way along to Machecoul, at the crossways of Benaste, the tip end turned toward Touvois." "Did he give you the password? Jean Oullier would surely not forget that." "Yes; 'Vanquished' and 'Vendée.'" "Very good," said Maître Jacques, rising and going to the middle of the open. There he called four of his men, gave them some directions in a low voice, and all four, without replying, went off in four different directions. At the end of about four minutes, during which time Maître Jacques had ordered up a jug of what seemed to be brandy, and had offered some to his companion, four individuals appeared from the four directions in which the other men had been sent. These were the sentinels just relieved by their comrades. "Any news?" asked Maître Jacques. "No," replied three of the men. "Good. You,--what do you say?" he inquired of the fourth. "You had the best post." "The diligence to Nantes was escorted by four gendarmes." "Ah, ha! your nose is good; you smell specie. Bless me! and when I think there are those who _order_ us not to get it! However, friends, patience! we are not to be put down." "Well, what do you think?" interrupted Courte-Joie. "I think there's not a pair of red breeches anywhere about. Tell Jean Oullier he can bring his people." "Good!" said Courte-Joie, who during this examination of the sentries was preparing a branch of holly in the manner agreed upon with Jean Oullier. "Very good; I'll send Trigaud." Turning toward the giant, "Here, Vermin!" he said. Maître Jacques stopped him. "Ah, _ça!_" he exclaimed; "are you crazy, to part with your legs in that way? Suppose you should need him? Nonsense! there are forty men here who would like no better than to stretch their legs. Wait, you shall see--Hi! Joseph Picaut!" At the call, our old acquaintance, who was sleeping on the grass in a sleep he seemed much to need, sat up and listened. "Joseph Picaut!" repeated Maître Jacques, impatiently. That decided the man. He rose, grumbling, and went up to Maître Jacques. "Here is a branch of holly," said the leader of the belligerents; "don't pluck off a single leaf. Carry it immediately to the crossway of La Benaste on the road to Machecoul, and lay it down in front of the crucifix, with its tip-end pointing toward Touvois." Maître Jacques crossed himself as he said the word "crucifix." "But--" began Picaut, objecting. "But?--what do you mean?" "I mean that, after four hours of such a run as I have just made, my legs are breaking under me." "Joseph Picaut," replied Maître Jacques, whose voice grew strident and metallic, like the blare of a trumpet, "you left your parish and enrolled yourself in my band. You came here; I did not ask you. Now, recollect one thing: at the first objection I strike; at the second I kill."