A party
of soldiers were at the gateway, and a gendarmerie officer stood
near. The latter glanced carelessly at the passport which the
merchant showed him, and the travellers rode on.
"Peste!" one of the soldiers said; "what is monsieur the Marquis de
Pignerolles doing here, riding about dressed as a bourgeois, with a
young woman at his back?"
"Which is the Marquis de Pignerolles?" one of the others said.
"He who has just ridden by. He was colonel of my regiment, and I
know him as well as I do you."
"It can't be him, Pierre. I saw Louis Godier yesterday, he has come
home on leave--he belongs to this town, you know--wounded at Lille.
He was telling me about the siege, and he said that the marquis was
taken prisoner by the English."
"Prisoner or not prisoner," the other said obstinately, "that is
the marquis. Why, man, do you think one could be mistaken in his
own colonel?--a good officer, too; rather strict perhaps, but a
good soldier, and a lion to fight."
The gendarme moved quietly away, and repeated what he had heard to
his captain.
"The Marquis de Pignerolles, travelling under the name of Monsieur
Perrot, silk merchant of Nantes, with a young lady behind him," the
officer exclaimed. "While he is supposed to be a prisoner in
England? This must be his daughter, for whom we made such a search
two years ago, and who has been on our lists ever since.
"This is important, Andre.
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