The path of honor: A tale of the war in the BocageStevenson, Burton Egbert
History
The path of honor: A tale of the war in the Bocage
Stevenson, Burton Egbert
France -- History -- Revolution, 1789-1799 -- Fiction; Love stories
“A strip of clean cloth--the longer the better. But clean cloth in a
hovel like this!”
She colored slightly as she looked down at me.
“If you will turn your back for a moment,” she said, “I think I can
supply the bandage.”
I walked over to the corner where our involuntary host still squatted,
cursing softly to himself, and stood before him. There was a sharp rip.
“How is this, doctor?” asked a voice; and I turned to see her holding
out to me a strip of linen.
“Excellent!” I cried; and kneeling before her, I drew it tightly around
the ankle. I rejoiced to see that the swelling had already decreased
considerably, and I bent and kissed the little foot.
“Is that a portion of the treatment?” she asked, laughing.
“A very necessary portion--don’t you feel the improvement?”
“Yes,” she said, her eyes dancing, “I believe I do.”
“And now,” I added, standing up again, “we must get out of this. We are
still too near that camp down yonder.”
“But I am such a burden!” she protested.
“A dear, delightful burden;” and I stooped to raise her. But at that
instant a violent blow sounded on the door.
“Open!” cried a voice. “Open!”
There was no time to temporize; besides, I knew that to hesitate would
be to double any suspicion we might awaken.
“At once!” I answered. “Be brave, my love!” I whispered, and kissed her
lips. As I turned away I saw the brute in the corner spring upon the
gold-piece and hide it among his rags.
“Open!” cried the voice again; and the door shook under a savage blow.
I strode to it and flung it wide.
A flash of arms greeted my eyes, a vision of fierce faces. In an
instant a dozen men came crowding into the room, and I saw that they
wore the uniform of the Republic.
[Illustration: I STRODE TO THE DOOR AND FLUNG IT WIDE]
CHAPTER XXIV.
THE DRAGON’S DEN.
THE rush of the intruders, sudden and overwhelming, drove me back from
the door, but I managed to hold my place, pistol in hand, before my
love, too dazed for the moment to do aught but stare at them and curse
the fortune which had brought us to this desperate pass. But I had a
part to play,--a part I had rehearsed more than once for an emergency
just such as this,--and I got my wits back by a supreme effort, while
the newcomers still stood gaping in a semicircle about us.
“Well, citizens,” I said, trying to achieve a smile, “one would have
thought you were taking a fortress by assault.”
“We were set to patrol this road,” explained one of them. “We saw this
light and determined to find out what was going forward here.”
I saw by their awkwardness and want of discipline that they were not
trained soldiery, but raw levies with no clear idea of their duties;
and my spirits rose.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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