He therefore yielded the point, submitted to having wet cloths wound about his head, and even to being consigned to solitude and darkness. But shortly after the surgeon had taken his departure he rose from his couch, struck a light, and throwing open the casement established himself on the window-seat in the cool night air. He had sat there some time, the incidents of the fight running madly through his throbbing head, when he heard a light and springing step that he did not know coming up the stairs. With a little knock the door opened, and into the light of the single candle came some one tall and slim and very young, at whom Louis stared for a moment in amazement. “Good Heavens! what are you doing here?” he exclaimed, getting slowly to his feet. It was the youth whom he had pointed out to his cousin in the Tuileries as Henri de la Rochejaquelein. “Mon Dieu, that I had been earlier!” cried the newcomer, on fire, as he grasped the Vicomte’s hand. “Ah, my dear Saint-Ermay, how I envy you that!” He pointed to the wet bandage, and there was no doubt of his sincerity. “Indeed you need not!” retorted Louis, laughing. “It covers the most confounded headache that you can imagine, gained by nothing more heroic than falling off a horse on to a very stony bridge.” “Oh, I know all about you,” said La Rochejaquelein. “At least sit down again.” “But tell me,” said Louis, obeying, “where you have come from, and what on earth you are doing here?” “I have come from Clisson, my cousin De Lescure’s château near Bressuire, you know. There they all are not knowing what to do; but I—— My God! I couldn’t keep away when I heard of your victory on the 15th. So I came to ask M. de Sapinaud to take me as his aide-de-camp—or as anything he pleased.” “A la bonne heure!” observed Saint-Ermay warmly. “You can have my place—my poor horse is dead.” “Yes, but M. de Sapinaud won’t have me,” returned the young man with a smile. “He says—it is very absurd—that I am more fit to command than to be commanded. And I would rather a thousand times fight in the ranks—just for the pleasure of it.” “Yes, it is hard lines to be a general _malgré soi_,” said Louis jestingly. “But old Sapinaud, I begin to think, knows what he is doing. And what, by the way, are they all about now at the Cross Roads?” “M. de Sapinaud,” said La Rochejaquelein, leaning against the table, “has prevailed on the rest to elect, not himself, but M. de Royrand general-in-chief; he is general of division, while MM. de Vaugirard and Baudry d’Asson have been chosen as commandants, and your cousin as major-general—I forget the names of the others. And they have resolved, I understand, to make this position their headquarters, and to organise the surrounding district. But I am tiring you, Saint-Ermay, and I must get back. I only rode over from the Four Roads to see how you were. It is high time I started.” “Where are you going?”