Presently a thought pulled me up. The courier was insensible when I left him, and he was the only one who could help me in this. I greatly reproached myself for leaving him while he was still alive. "Poor devil," thought I to myself, "there is some one whom his death will hurt. He must not die alone. He was no enemy of mine." I went back, and, getting from the horse, stooped to him, lifted up his head, and found that he was not dead. I spoke in his ear. He moaned, and his eyes opened. "What is your name?" said I. "Jean--Labrouk," he whispered. Now I remembered him. He was the soldier whom Gabord had sent as messenger to Voban the night I was first taken to the citadel. "Shall I carry word for you to any one?" asked I. There was a slight pause; then he said, "Tell my--Babette--Jacques Dobrotte owes me ten francs--and--a leg--of mutton. Tell--my Babette--to give my coat of beaver fur to Gabord the soldier. Tell"...he sank back, but raised himself, and continued: "Tell my Babette I weep with her.... Ah, mon grand homme de Calvaire--bon soir!" He sank back again, but I roused him with one question more, vital to me. I must have the countersign. "Labrouk! Labrouk!" said I sharply. He opened his dull, glazed eyes. "Qui va la?" said I, and I waited anxiously. Thought seemed to rally in him, and, staring--alas! how helpless and how sad: that look of a man brought back for an instant from the Shadows!--his lips moved. "France," was the whispered reply. "Advance and give the countersign!" I urged. "Jesu--" he murmured faintly. I drew from my breast the cross that Mathilde had given me, and pressed it to his lips. He sighed softly, lifted his hand to it, and then fell back, never to speak again. After covering his face and decently laying the body out, I mounted the horse again. Glancing up, I saw that this bad business had befallen not twenty feet from a high Calvary at the roadside. I was in a painful quandary. Did Labrouk mean that the countersign was "Jesu," or was that word the broken prayer of his soul as it hurried forth? So strange a countersign I had never heard, and yet it might be used in this Catholic country. This day might be some great feast of the Church--possibly that of the naming of Christ (which was the case, as I afterwards knew). I rode on, tossed about in my mind. So much hung on this. If I could not give the countersign, I should have to fight my way back again the road I came. But I must try my luck. So I went on, beating up my heart to confidence; and now I came to the St. Louis Gate. A tiny fire was burning near, and two sentinels stepped forward as I rode boldly on the entrance. "Qui va la?" was the sharp call. "France," was my reply, in a voice as like the peasant's as possible. "Advance and give the countersign," came the demand. Another voice called from the darkness of the wall: "Come and drink, comrade; I've a brother with Bougainville."