Uncle Bernac: A Memory of the EmpireDoyle, Arthur Conan
History
Uncle Bernac: A Memory of the Empire
Doyle, Arthur Conan
France -- History -- Consulate and First Empire, 1799-1815 -- Fiction
And suddenly I became conscious that they could all three see something
which was invisible to me. I read it from their tense faces and their
staring eyes. Toussac swung his axe over his shoulder and poised
himself for a blow. Lesage cowered away and put one hand between his
eyes and the open door. The other ceased swinging his spindle legs and
sat like a little brown image upon the edge of his box. There was a
moist pattering of feet, a yellow streak shot through the doorway, and
Toussac lashed at it as I have seen an English cricketer strike at a
ball. His aim was true, for he buried the head of the hatchet in the
creature's throat, but the force of his blow shattered his weapon, and
the weight of the hound carried him backwards on to the floor. Over
they rolled and over, the hairy man and the hairy dog, growling and
worrying in a bestial combat. He was fumbling at the animal's throat,
and I could not see what he was doing, until it gave a sudden sharp yelp
of pain, and there was a rending sound like the tearing of canvas.
The man staggered up with his hands dripping, and the tawny mass with
the blotch of crimson lay motionless upon the floor.
'Now!' cried Toussac in a voice of thunder, 'now!' and he rushed from
the hut.
Lesage had shrunk away into the corner in a frenzy of fear whilst
Toussac had been killing the hound, but now he raised his agonised face,
which was as wet as if he had dipped it into a basin.
'Yes, yes,' he cried; 'we must fly, Charles. The hound has left the
police behind, and we may still escape.'
But the other, with the same imperturbable face, motionless save for the
rhythm of his jaw muscles, walked quietly over and closed the door upon
the inside.
'I think, friend Lucien,' said he in his quiet voice, 'that you had best
stay where you are.'
Lesage looked at him with amazement gradually replacing terror upon his
pallid features.
'But you do not understand, Charles,' he cried.
'Oh, yes, I think I do,' said the other, smiling.
'They may be here in a few minutes. The hound has slipped its leash,
you see, and has left them behind in the marsh; but they are sure to
come here, for there is no other cottage but this.'
'They are sure to come here.'
'Well, then, let us fly. In the darkness we may yet escape.'
'No; we shall stay where we are.'
'Madman, you may sacrifice your own life, but not mine. Stay if you
wish, but for my part I am going.'
He ran towards the door with a foolish, helpless flapping of his hands,
but the other sprang in front of him with so determined a gesture of
authority that the younger man staggered back from it as from a blow.
'You fool!' said his companion. 'You poor miserable dupe!'
Lesage's mouth opened, and he stood staring with his knees bent and his
spread-fingered hands up, the most hideous picture of fear that I have
ever seen.
'You, Charles, you!' he stammered, hawking up each word.
'Yes, me,' said the other, smiling grimly.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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