And so he did.  From the time when Henri Larochejaquelin left Laval for Granville, nothing prospered with the Vendeans; the army, as it was agreed, had left that place for Granville, and their first misfortune had been the death of de Lescure.

“He died in Laval?” asked the officer.

“No,” said Chapeau.  “When the moment for starting came, he insisted on being carried with the army; he followed us in a carriage, but the jolting of the road was too much for him—­the journey killed him.  He died at Fougeres, on the third day after we left Laval.”

“And Madame?” asked the stranger.

“It is impossible for me now,” said Chapeau, “to tell you all the dangers through which she passed, all the disguises which she had to use, and the strange adventures which for a long time threatened almost daily to throw her in the hands of those who would have been delighted to murder her; but of course you know that she escaped at last.”

“I am told that she still lives in Poitou, and I think I heard that, some years after M. de Lescure’s death, she married M. Louis Larochejaquelin.”

“She did so—­the younger brother of my own dear lord.  He was a boy in England during our hot work in La Vendee.”

“Yes; and he served in an English regiment.”

“So I had heard, Monsieur; but you know, don’t you, that he also has now fallen.”

“Indeed no!—­for years and years I have heard nothing of the family.”

“It was only two months since:  he fell last May at the head of the Vendeans, leading them against the troops which the Emperor sent down there.  The Vendeans could not endure the thoughts of the Emperor’s return from Elba.  M. Louis was the first to lift his sword, and Madame is, a second time, a widow.  Poor lady, none have suffered as she has done!” He then paused a while in his narrative, but as the stranger did not speak, he continued:  “but of M. Henri, of course, Monsieur, you heard the fate of our dear General?”

“I only know that he perished, as did so many hundred others, who were also so true and brave.”

“I will tell you then,” said Chapeau, “for I was by him when he died; he fell, when he was shot, close at my feet:  he never spoke one word, or gave one groan, but his eyes, as they closed for the last time, looked up into the face of one—­one who, at any rate, loved him very well,” and Chapeau took a handkerchief from a little pocket in his wife’s apron, and applied it to his eyes.

“Yes,” he continued,” when the bullet struck him, I was as near to him as I am to her,” and he put his hand to his wife’s head.  “It might have been me as well as him, only for the chance.  I’ll tell you how the manner of it was.  You know bow we all strove to cross back into La Vendee, first at Angers and afterwards at Ancenis; and how M. Henri got divided from the army at Ancenis.  Well, after that, the Vendean army was no more; the army was gone, it had melted away; the most of those who were still alive were left in Brittany, and they joined the Chouans.  Here is my friend, Auguste, he was one of them.”