Many men were talking of the state of the times, and of the wars
to come; some were foretelling misery and desolation, and others were
speaking of the happy days about to return, when their King and their
priests should have their own, and La Vendee should be the most honoured
province in France.
They made a pretty scene, waiting there beneath the shade till their
priest should come to lead them to some rural chapel. The bright colours
worn by the women in their Sunday clothes, and the picturesque forms of
the men, in their huge broad-brimmed flapping hats, harmonized well with
the thick green foliage around them. They shewed no sign of impatience,
they were quite content to wait there, and pray, or gossip, or make love
to each other, till such time as Father Jerome should please to come;
they had no idea that their time was badly spent in waiting for so good
a man.
At any rate he came before they were tired, and with him came a man who
was a stranger to them all, except to Jacques Chapeau. This man was but
little, if anything, better dressed than themselves; he looked like one
of their own farmers of the better days; certainly from his dress and
manner he had no pretensions to be called a gentleman, and yet he walked
and talked with Father Jerome as though he were his equal.
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