“Our officers dined here last night,” she explained, “and I heard them talking. It seems that the brigands are gathering at Coulonges and expect to take Thouars. Bah! The Blues will fall upon them, surround them, exterminate them! For do you know what it is that they are planning, those scoundrels? They are planning to hold a place where that ogre of a Pitt may land his troops upon the sacred soil of France!” Her eyes were blazing. I sprang to my feet. “Then I must be off!” I cried. “I can’t afford to miss that fun. But first, citizen, can you put me up a lunch for the road--a big one, for I have the devil of an appetite. Ransack your larder--I can pay for it;” and I laid a golden louis on the table. “In the vicinity of an army there is never anything to eat. I shall no doubt meet plenty of poor fellows with nothing in their bellies, and two or three bottles of wine would not be amiss.” “Just so,” she nodded, and flew to the kitchen, where I heard her and another woman talking vigorously together to the accompaniment of a clatter of knives and dishes. I walked to the door and looked down the village street. It was still deserted, save for the women and children. Evidently the men had all been caught in the dragnet of the Blues, or had hurried into hiding for fear they would be drafted to the front. How these poor creatures, left here to their own resources, managed to exist I could not imagine. “Well, citizen,” asked a voice, “how is this?” I turned to find the maid smiling up at me and in her hand a hamper filled to the brim and covered with a cloth through which the necks of three bottles protruded. “Excellent!” I cried as I took it. “That will make me welcome, at any rate. A thousand thanks, my dear.” “There is one more thing I can do for you,” she said. “Your disguise is a poor one, citizen.” “Disguise!” I echoed, my heart in my throat. “Because the face does not match the clothes,” she went on imperturbably. “Any fool could see that these rags do not belong to you. Sit here a moment.” I sat down obediently, not daring to disobey. Whereupon she produced a greasy rag and rubbed it over my face, retiring a step or two from time to time to admire the effect, and then returning to add another touch, much in the manner of an artist engaged upon a masterpiece. At last she was satisfied. “There,” she said, “I defy any one to detect you now. And remember, as long as you wear those rags you are not to wash face or hands. Your business is none of mine, but you are too pretty a fellow to be permitted to run your head into a noose.” “Thank you, my dear!” I said again, and rose and took up my hamper. She came to me and stood on tiptoe. “A salute for the Nation, citizen,” she said, and kissed me on either cheek. “If you return this way you are to stop here and inquire for Ninette. She will be glad to see you. Adieu--and may the good God have you in His keeping.”