"Only a flesh wound," replied La Vireville, glancing down at it indifferently. "A splinter of shell, I think; I was knocked down by one." He went and looked down at the dead officer by the wall, and came back without saying anything. "I must get back to what is left of my men. Poor Le Goffic is badly wounded. I only came to make sure of your safety, René." The Marquis was on his feet now. "But for one thing," said he, suddenly finding speech, and pointing to the quiet figure under the cloak, "I would rather be in his place." "I can guess what that thing is," returned La Vireville, making to go; "but though I have no son, like you, to live for, and the man I have hated so long is dead--I think he saved my life--yet I want to live . . . for to-morrow." "_Will there be a to-morrow?_" asked the Marquis de Flavigny, with sombre emphasis. La Vireville, who was already half-way to the door, stopped dead, and turned to face that question. "No, René, perhaps not," said he very gravely, and there was a silence. "There is now only the fort between us and Hoche's advance," went on the Marquis. "If that goes, we shall be swept into the sea." "I know," replied the Chouan. He seemed to be waiting still for something else to be said. De Flavigny came up to him and took his hand. "Fortuné, I have a great favour to ask of you, and I must ask you now, for I have a presentiment that I shall never have another chance to make the request." "Ask," said his friend. "I do not think that I shall ever see England again," went on the Marquis. "If I do not, and you escape, I want you to promise me to look after Anne. Don't refuse me, Fortuné! Mr. Elphinstone is an old man, and when he dies there will be nobody of my blood--nobody of our nationality even--about the boy, and he is French, and I should wish him to remain French, although in exile. By my will he inherits all I have, and nearly all his grandfather's property will eventually come to him, so he will be well provided for. There is no one in the world, after his grandfather, to whom I would rather commit him than you. He is very fond of you--and, Fortuné, he has a kind of claim on you already, since you did that for him which can never be forgotten, though you will not allow me even to thank you for it!" La Vireville had heard him silently to the end, looking down at the beaten earth of the cottage floor. "But if we come to final disaster, which, God knows, seems probable enough," he said quietly, "it is not likely that I shall see England again either. Not that I have any special presentiments about my own fate--one soon gets rid of those en chouannant--but because I think, with you, that we are in a desperate strait. Unless Puisaye, now that d'Hervilly is dying . . . though I do not believe that Puisaye is the man to save us. Yet we _may_ beat them off."