"
The maire had pricked up his ears at the mention of the prisoners.
"Prisoners, monsieur!" he exclaimed. "You said nothing of them. We
have heard about them, and there is a reward offered for their
capture. If monsieur would deign to give us part of the reward--"
"We will talk of that again, monsieur," I said. "I am in haste to
get to Cherbourg with the deserters; I can trust you, no doubt, to
guard the prisoners well until an escort can be sent for them from
St. Malo. In consideration of that, no doubt--"
I broke off expressively, and the maire doubtless regarded his
share of the reward as secure, for he raised no more objections. He
accompanied me to the door, looked contemptuously at my comrades
(who were in a great state of anxiety, I can assure you, knowing
nothing of what I had in mind), and then went on to the wagon where
the supposed deserters were lying. On seeing him the captain
started up and with many contortions struggled to speak.
"Why are they gagged, monsieur?" asked the maire.
I repeated the explanation I had already given.
"Terrible!" said the maire, and the captain grew purple in the
face.
"You perceive I could not allow my men's ears to be defiled by the
language of such a ruffian," I remarked.
"Perfectly, monsieur. Ah, scilerat!" he cried, shaking his fist at
the infuriate officer, and pouring out upon him a torrent of loyal
abuse which I find it impossible to translate.
Then he turned to the bosun, and asked him how he had come by his
wound.
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