The feeling that Roland experienced as he followed Georges Cadoudal resembled that of a man half-awakened, who is still under the influence of a dream, and returns gradually from the confines which separate night from day. He strives to discover whether the ground he walks on is that of fiction or reality, and the more he burrows¹ in the dimness of his brain the further he buries himself in doubt.  
A man existed for whom Roland felt a worship almost divine. Accustomed to live in the atmosphere of glory which surrounded that man, to see others obey his orders, and to obey them himself with a promptness and abnegation that were almost Oriental, it seemed amazing to him to encounter, at the opposite ends of France, two organized powers, enemies of the power of that man, and prepared to struggle against it. Suppose a Jew of Judas Maccabeus, a worshipper of Jehovah, having, from his infancy², heard him called the King of kings, the God of strength, of vengeance³, of armies, the Eternal, coming suddenly face to face with the mysterious Osiris of the Egyptians, or the thundering Jupiter of the Greeks.
 
His adventures at Avignon and Bourg with Morgan and the Company of Jehu, his adventures in the villages of Muzillac and the Trinité with Cadoudal and his Chouans, seemed to him some strange initiation⁴ in an unknown religion; but like those courageous⁵ neophytes who risk death to learn the secrets of initiation, he resolved to follow to the end.
 
Besides he was not without a certain admiration⁶ for these exceptional characters; nor did he measure without a certain amazement⁷ these revolted Titans, challenging his god; he felt they were in no sense common men—neither those who had stabbed Sir John in the Chartreuse of Seillon, nor those who had shot the bishop⁸ of Vannes at the village of the Trinité.
 
And now, what was he to see? He was soon to know, for they had ridden five hours and a half and the day was breaking.
 
Beyond the village of Tridon they turned across country; leaving Vannes to the left, they reached Tréfléon. At Tréfléon, Cadoudal, still followed by his major-general, Branche-d’Or, had found Monte-à-l’assaut and Chante-en-hiver. He gave them further orders, and continued on his way, bearing to the left and skirting the edges of a little wood which lies between Grandchamp and Larré. There Cadoudal halted, imitated, three separate times in succession, the cry of an owl⁹, and was presently surrounded by his three hundred men.
 
A grayish light was spreading through the sky beyond Tréfléon and Saint-Nolf; it was not the rising of the sun, but the first rays of dawn. A heavy mist rose from the earth and prevented the eye from seeing more than fifty feet beyond it.
 
Cadoudal seemed to be expecting news before risking himself further.
 
Suddenly, about five hundred paces distant, the crowing of a cock was heard. Cadoudal pricked¹⁰ up his ears; his men looked at each other and laughed.
 
The cock crowed again, but nearer.
 
“It is he,” said Cadoudal; “answer him.”
 
The howling of a dog came from within three feet of Roland, but so perfectly¹¹ imitated that the young man, although aware of what it was, looked about him for the animal that was uttering such lugubrious¹² plaints. Almost at the same moment he saw a man coming rapidly through the mist, his form growing more and more distinct as he approached. The new-comer saw the two horsemen, and went toward them.
 
Cadoudal rode forward a few paces, putting his finger to his lips, as if to request the man to speak low. The latter, therefore, did not pause until he was close beside his general.
 
“Well, Fleur-d’épine,” asked Georges, “have we got them?”
 
“Like a mouse in a trap; not one can re-enter Vannes, if you say the word.”
 
“I desire nothing better. How many are there?”
 
“One hundred men, commanded by the general himself.”
 
“How many wagons¹⁴?”
 
“Seventeen.”
 
“When did they start?”
 
“They must be about a mile and three-quarters from here.”
 
“What road have they taken?”
 
“Grandchamp to Vannes.”
 
“So that, if I deploy¹⁵ from Meucon to Plescop—”
 
“You’ll bar the way.”
 
“That’s all.”
 
Cadoudal called his four lieutenants¹⁶, Chante-en-hiver, Monte-à-l’assaut, Fend-l’air, and La Giberne, to him, gave each of them fifty men, and each with his men disappeared like shadows in the heavy mist, giving the well-known hoot¹⁷, as they vanished. Cadoudal was left with a hundred men, Branche-d’Or and Fleur-d’épine. He returned to Roland.
 
“Well, general,” said the latter, “is everything satisfactory?”
 
“Yes, colonel, fairly so,” replied the Chouan; “but you can judge for yourself in half an hour.”
 
“It will be difficult to judge of anything in that mist.”
 
Cadoudal looked about him.
 
“It will lift in half an hour,” said he. “Will you utilize¹⁸ the time by eating a mouthful and drinking a glass?”
 
“Faith!” said the young man, “I must admit that the ride has hollowed me.”
 
“I make a point,” said Georges, “of eating the best breakfast I can before fighting.”
 
“Then you are going to fight?”
 
“I think so.”
 
“Against whom?”
 
“Why, the Republicans, and as we have to do with General Hatry, I doubt if he surrenders without resistance.”
 
“Do the Republicans know they are going to fight you?”
 
“They haven’t the least idea.”
 
“So it is to be a surprise?”
 
“Not exactly, inasmuch as when the fog lifts they will see us as soon as we see them.” Then, turning to the man who seemed to be in charge of the provisions, Cadoudal added, “Brise-Bleu, is there anything for breakfast?”
 
Brise-Bleu nodded affirmatively, went into the wood, and came out dragging after him a donkey loaded with two baskets. He spread a cloak on a rise of the ground, and placed on it a roast chicken, a bit of cold salt pork, some bread and buckwheat cakes. This time Brise-Bleu had provided luxury in the shape of a bottle of wine and a glass.
 
Cadoudal motioned Roland to the table and the improvised¹⁹ repast. The young man sprang from his horse, throwing the bridle²⁰ to a Chouan. Cadoudal did likewise.
 
“Now,” said the latter, turning to his men, “you have half an hour to do as we do. Those who have not breakfasted in half an hour are notified that they must fight on empty stomachs.”
 
The invitation seemed equivalent to an order, so promptly²¹ and precisely²² was it executed. Every man pulled from his bag or his pocket a bit of bread or a buckwheat cake, and followed the example of his general, who had already divided the chicken between Roland and himself. As there was but one glass, both officers shared it.
 
While they were thus breakfasting, side by side, like two friends on a hunt, the sun rose, and, as Cadoudal had predicted, the mist became less and less dense²³. Soon the nearest trees could be distinguished²⁴; then the line of the woods, stretching to the right from Meucon to Grand-champ, while to the left the plain of Plescop, threaded by a rivulet²⁵, sloped gradually toward Vannes. This natural declivity²⁶ of the ground became more and more perceptible as it neared the ocean.
 
On the road from Grandchamp to Plescop, a line of wagons were now visible, the tail of which was still hidden in the woods. This line was motionless; evidently some unforeseen obstacle had stopped it.
 
In fact, about a quarter of a mile before the leading wagon¹³ they perceived the two hundred Chouans, under Monte-à-l’assaut, Chante-en-hiver, Fend-l’air, and Giberne, barring the way.
 
The Republicans, inferior in number—we said that there were but a hundred—had halted and were awaiting the complete dispersion of the fog to determine the number and character of the men they were about to meet. Men and wagons were now in a triangle, of which Cadoudal and his hundred men formed one of the angles.
 
At sight of this small number of men thus surrounded by triple forces, and of the well-known uniform, of which the color had given its name to the Republican forces, Roland sprang hastily to his feet. As for Cadoudal, he remained where he was, nonchalantly finishing his meal. Of the hundred men surrounding the general, not one seemed to perceive the spectacle that was now before their eyes; it seemed almost as if they were waiting for Cadoudal’s order to look at it.
 
Roland had only to cast his eyes on the Republicans to see that they were lost. Cadoudal watched the various emotions that succeeded each other on the young man’s face.
 
“Well,” asked the Chouan, after a moment’s silence, “do you think my dispositions²⁷ well taken?”
 
“You might better say your precautions, general,” replied Roland, with a sarcastic²⁸ smile.
 
“Isn’t it the First Consul²⁹’s way to make the most of his advantages when he gets them?” asked Cadoudal.
 
Roland bit his lips; then, instead of replying to the royalist leader’s question, he said: “General, I have a favor to ask which I hope you will not refuse.”
 
“What is it?”
 
“Permission to let me go and be killed with my comrades.”
 
Cadoudal rose. “I expected that request,” he said.
 
“Then you will grant it?” cried Roland, his eyes sparkling with joy.
 
“Yes; but, first, I have a favor to ask of you,” said the royalist leader, with supreme³⁰ dignity.
 
“Ask it, sir.”
 
“To bear my flag of truce³¹ to General Hatry.”
 
“For what purpose?”
 
“I have several proposals to make to him before the fight begins.”
 
“I presume that among those proposals which you deign³² to intrust to me you do not include that of laying down his arms?”
 
“On the contrary, colonel, you understand that that is the first of my proposals.”
 
“General Hatry will refuse it.”
 
“That is probable.”
 
“And then?”
 
“Then I shall give him his choice between two others, either of which he can, I think, accept without forfeiting³³ his honor.”
 
“What are they?”
 
“I will tell you in due time. Begin with the first.”
 
“State it.”
 
“General Hatry and his hundred men are surrounded by a triple force. I offer them their lives; but they must lay down their arms, and make oath not to serve again in the Vendée for five years.”
 
Roland shook his head.
 
“Better that than to see his men annihilated³⁴.”
 
“Maybe so; but he would prefer to have his men annihilated, and be annihilated with them.”
 
“Don’t you think,” asked Cadoudal, laughing, “that it might be as well, in any case, to ask him?”
 
“True,” said Roland.
 
“Well, colonel, be so good as to mount your horse, make yourself known to him, and deliver my proposal.”
 
“Very well,” replied Roland.
 
“The colonel’s horse,” said Cadoudal, motioning to the Chouan who was watching it. The man led it up. The young man sprang upon it, and rapidly covered the distance which separated him from the convoy³⁵.
 
A group of men were gathered on its flank, evidently composed of General Hatry and his officers. Roland rode toward them, scarcely three gunshots distant from the Chouans. General Hatry’s astonishment³⁶ was great when he saw an officer in the Republican uniform approaching him. He left the group and advanced three paces to meet the messenger.
 
Roland made himself known, related how he came to be among the Whites, and transmitted Cadoudal’s proposal to General Hatry.
 
As he has foreseen, the latter refused it. Roland returned to Cadoudal with a proud and joyful³⁷ heart. “He refuses!” he cried, as soon as his voice could be heard.
 
Cadoudal gave a nod that showed he was not surprised by the refusal.
 
“Then, in that case,” he answered, “go back with my second proposition. I don’t wish to have anything to reproach myself with in answering to such a judge of honor as you.”
 
Roland bowed. “What is the second proposition?”
 
“General Hatry shall meet me in the space that separates the two troops, he shall carry the same arms as I—that is, his sabre and pistols—and the matter shall be decided³⁸ between us. If I kill him, his men are to submit to the conditions already named, for we cannot take prisoners; if he kills me his men shall pass free and be allowed to reach Vannes safely. Come, I hope that’s a proposition you would accept, colonel?”
 
“I would accept it myself,” replied Roland.
 
“Yes,” exclaimed Cadoudal, “but you are not General Hatry. Content yourself with being a negotiator this time, and if this proposition, which, if I were he, I wouldn’t let escape me, does not please him, come to me. I’m a good fellow, and I’ll make him a third.”
 
Roland rode off a second time; his coming was awaited by the Republicans with visible impatience³⁹. He transmitted the message to General Hatry.
 
“Citizen,” replied the general, “I must render account of my conduct to the First Consul. You are his aide-de-camp, and I charge you on your return to Paris to bear testimony⁴⁰ on my behalf to him. What would you do in my place? Whatever you would do, that I shall do.”
 
Roland started; his face assumed the grave expression of a man who is arguing a point of honor in his own mind. Then, at the end of a few seconds, he said: “General, I should refuse.”
 
“Your reasons, citizen?” demanded the general.
 
“The chances of a duel⁴¹ are problematic; you cannot subject the fate of a hundred brave men to a doubtful chance. In an affair like this, where all are concerned, every man had better defend his own skin as best he can.”
 
“Is that your opinion, colonel?”
 
“On my honor.”
 
“It is also mine; carry my reply to the royalist general.”
 
Roland galloped⁴² back to Cadoudal, and delivered General Hatry’s reply.
 
Cadoudal smiled. “I expected it,” he said.
 
“You couldn’t have expected it, because it was I who advised him to make it.”
 
“You thought differently a few moments ago.”
 
“Yes; but you yourself reminded me that I was not General Hatry. Come, what is your third proposition?” said Roland impatiently; for he began to perceive, or rather he had perceived from the beginning, that the noble part in the affair belonged to the royalist general.
 
“My third proposition,” said Cadoudal, “is not a proposition but an order; an order for two hundred of my men to withdraw. General Hatry has one hundred men; I will keep one hundred. My Breton forefathers⁴⁴ were accustomed to fight foot to foot, breast to breast, man to man, and oftener one to three than three to one. If General Hatry is victorious⁴⁵, he can walk over our bodies and tranquilly⁴⁶ enter Vannes; if he is defeated, he cannot say it is by numbers. Go, Monsieur de Montrevel, and remain with your friends. I give them thus the advantage of numbers, for you alone are worth ten men.”
 
Roland raised his hat.
 
“What are you doing, sir?” demanded Cadoudal.
 
“I always bow to that which is grand, general; I bow to you.”
 
“Come, colonel,” said Cadoudal, “a last glass of wine; let each of us drink to what we love best, to that which we grieve to leave behind, to that we hope to meet in heaven.”
 
Taking the bottle and the one glass, he filled it half full, and offered it to Roland. “We have but one glass, Monsieur de Montrevel; drink first.”
 
“Why first?”
 
“Because, in the first place, you are my guest, and also because there is a proverb that whoever drinks after another knows his thought.” Then, he added, laughing: “I want to know your thought, Monsieur de Montrevel.”
 
Roland emptied the glass and returned it to Cadoudal. The latter filled his glass half full, as he had done for Roland, and emptied it in turn.
 
“Well,” asked Roland, “now do you know my thought, general?”
 
“My thought,” said Roland, with h............