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
“She died in her husband’s arms,” I continued, seeing how the words
stung him, “happy, his lips on hers. Of you she had never so much as
heard the name. During her whole life not once did she so much as
think of you. For her you have never existed--never will exist! She has
escaped you!”
“Go on!” he said hoarsely, licking his lips with a purple tongue. “Body
of God! Go on!”
His face was convulsed with anguish, great drops of sweat stood out
across his forehead; he was quivering under the blows I dealt him, and
yet he seemed to get a kind of fearful pleasure from them. And in that
instant I saw how he had been consumed by a hopeless passion; how he
had beaten himself against a lofty wall which he could never hope to
scale; how he was at this moment eating his heart out--and I might have
found it in my soul to pity him, if I had not so loathed and hated him
for the evil it was still in his power to do.
“Go on!” he repeated savagely. “What more?”
“Nothing more,” I answered, “except that your second victim will escape
you even as the other. God protects His angels!”
“Pah!” he yelled, his wrath bursting forth like a whirlwind. “I will
show you how He protects them;” and he sprang toward the cot like a
wild beast.
A blind fury seized me--a fury maddening, uncontrollable. I saw
red--literally and actually I saw red, as though the world had been
suddenly drenched with blood. I strained at the cord about my wrists
until it cut deep into the flesh; I hurled myself toward him, only to
be jerked back cruelly by the noose about my neck. I cursed him till
I could curse no longer; I offered my soul’s hope of eternity for a
single moment’s freedom.
Then suddenly I realized my impotence; a great calm fell upon me. I
stopped and looked at him. He had left the cot and come back to me,
bringing a candle with him in order to see more clearly, and he stood
there regarding me with the air of a connoisseur.
“Well, citizen,” he asked with a diabolical smile, “have you finished?
If you care to begin again, pray do so, for it is very amusing. If not,
I fear I shall have to bid you adieu. After all, one must prosecute his
loves in private.”
A long sigh from the cot interrupted him; he turned with a start,
holding the candle above his head. In an instant I saw my chance; I
drew up my leg and kicked him savagely with all my strength, full in
the belly.
He went back and down with one terrible yell and lay writhing upon the
floor. Again I tore wildly at my bonds, but the flap of the tent was
dashed aside, and the guard rushed in.
Goujon sat upright with an effort, swaying from side to side.
“String him up!” he yelled, his lips white with froth like a mad dog’s.
“Hang him! Out with him this instant! An aristocrat and a traitor!” The
words rose to a scream of agony. “Oh, he has killed me!” he groaned,
and fell forward upon his face.
“God grant it!” I murmured. “Oh, God grant it!”
Already their hands were upon me, dragging me away.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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