At the entrance of one of the roads stood the cabriolet which
had brought M. d'Escorval and the abbe.
At last M. Lacheneur saw the fugitives approaching in the distance. He
dashed forward, to meet them, trying by mingled curses and insults to
stay their flight.
"Cowards!" he vociferated, "traitors! You flee--and you are ten against
one! Where are you going? To your own homes. Fools! you will find
the gendarmes there only awaiting your coming to conduct you to the
scaffold. Is it not better to die with your weapons in your hands?
Come--right about. Follow me! We may still conquer. Reinforcements are
at hand; two thousand men are following me!"
He promised them two thousand men; had he promised them ten thousand,
twenty thousand--an army and cannon, it would have made no difference.
Not until they reached the wide-open space of the cross-roads, where
they had talked so confidently scarcely an hour before, did the most
intelligent of the throng regain their senses, while the others fled in
every direction.
About a hundred of the bravest and most determined of the conspirators
gathered around M.
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