Tom Burke Of "Ours" Volume I Part 67

"They are waiting for you without, mon lieutenant," said an old sergeant-major, touching his cap as he spoke.

"Come along," said Pioche, with a deeply-muttered oath; "and, by the blood of Saint Louis, it shall be the last time Maitre Francois shows his skill in fence, if I cost them the fire of a platoon to-morrow."

I was hurried along by the crowd to the court, a hundred different advisers whispering their various counsels in my ears as I went.

"Take care of his lunge in tierce,--mind that," cried one.

"Push him outside the arm,--outside, remember; take my advice, young man," said an old sous-officier,--"close on him at once, take his point where he gives it, and make sure of your own weapon."

"No bad plan either," cried two or three. "Monsieur Auguste is right; Francois can't bear the cold steel, and if he sees it close, he loses his head altogether."

The courtyard was already cleared for action; the horses picketed in one corner, the straw removed, and a blaze of light from all the lamps and candles of the supper-room showed the ground as clearly as at noonday.

While my antagonist was taking off his coat and vest,--an operation I did not choose to imitate,--I took a rapid survey of the scene, and notwithstanding the rush of advisers around me, was sufficiently collected to decide on my mode of acting.

"Come, mon lieutenant, off with your frock," said an officer at my side; "even if you don't care for the advantage of a free sword-arm, those fellows yonder won't believe it all fair, if you do not strip."

"Yes, yes, take it off," said a fellow in the crowd, "your fine epaulettes may as well escape tarnis.h.i.+ng; and that new coat, too, will be all the better without a hole in it."

I hastily threw off my coat and waistcoat, when the crowd fell back, and the maitre d'armes advancing into the open s.p.a.ce with a light and nimble step, cried out, "En garde, Monsieur!" I stood my ground, and crossed my sword with his.

For a few seconds I contented myself with merely observing my adversary, who handled his weapon not only with all the skill of an accomplished swordsman, but with a dexterity that showed me he was playing off his art before his companions.

As if to measure his distance, he made two or three slight pa.s.ses over the guard of my sword, and then grating his blade against mine with that peculiar motion which bodes attack, he fixed his eyes on mine, to draw off my attention from his intended thrust. The quickness and facility with which his weapon changed from side to side of mine, the easy motion of his wrist, and the rigid firm ness of his arm, all showed me I was no match for him,--although one of the best of my day at the military school,--and I did not venture to proceed beyond mere defence. He saw this, and by many a trick endeavored to induce an attack,--now dropping his point carelessly, to address a monosyllable to a friend near; now throwing open his guard, as if from negligence.

At length, as if tired with waiting, he called out, "_Que cela finisse!_"

and rushed in on me.

[Ill.u.s.tration: Tom masters the "Maitre d'Armes"]

The rapidity of the a.s.sault, for a second or so, completely overcame me; and though I defended myself mechanically, I could neither follow his weapon with my eye nor antic.i.p.ate his intended thrust. Twice his point touched my sword-arm above the wrist, and by a slight wound there, saved my lungs from being pierced. At last, after a desperate rally, in which he broke in on my guard, he made a fearful lunge at my chest. I bent forward, and received his blade in the muscles of my back, when, with a wheel round, I smashed the sword in me, and buried my own up to the hilt in his body. He fell bathed in blood; and I, staggering backwards, was caught in Pioche's arms at the moment when all consciousness was fast leaving me.

A few minutes after I came to myself, and found that I was lying on a heap of straw in the yard, while two regimental surgeons were most industriously engaged in trying to stop the hemorrhage of my wounds.

With little interest in my own fate, I could not help feeling anxious about my antagonist. They shook their heads mournfully in reply to my question, and desired me to be as calm as possible, for my life hung on a very thread. The dressing completed, I was carried into the house, and laid on a bed in a small, neat-looking chamber, which I heard, as they carried me along, mademoiselle had kindly placed at my disposal. She herself a.s.sisted to place the pillow beneath my head, and then with noiseless gesture closed the curtains of the window, and took her seat at the bedside.

The moment the others had left the room, I turned to ask for' the maitre d'armes. But she could only say that his companions of the Fourth had carried him away to the ambulance, refusing all offers of aid except from the surgeons of their own corps.

"They say," added she, with a nave simplicity, "that Franois is not made like other folk, and that the only doctors who understand him are in the Fourth Regiment. However that may be, it will puzzle them sadly this time; you have given him his _coup de cong_."

"I hope not, sincerely," said I, with a shudder.

"And why not?" cried mademoiselle, in astonishment. "Is it not a good service you render to the whole brigade? Would not the division be all the happier if such as he, and Pichot, and the rest of them--"

"Pichot,--Amde Pichot?"

"Yes, Amde Pichot, to be sure. But what's that knocking outside? Ah, there 's Pioche at the window!"

Mademoiselle arose and walked towards the door; but before she reached it, it was opened, and General d'Auvergne entered the room.

"Is he here?" asked he, in a low voice.

"Yes, General," said mademoiselle, with a courtesy, as she placed the chair for him to sit down. "He is much better. I 'll wait outside till you want me," added she, as she left the room and closed the door.

"Come, come, my boy," said the kind old man, as he took my hand in his, "don't give way thus. I have made many inquiries about this affair, and they all tend to exculpate you. This fellow Franois is the _mauvaise tete_ of the regiment, and I only wish his chastis.e.m.e.nt had come from some other hand than yours."

"Will he live. General?" asked I, with a smothering fulness in my throat as I uttered the words.

"Not if he be mortal, I believe. The sword pierced his chest from side to side."

I groaned heavily as I heard these words; and burying my head beneath the clothes, became absorbed in my grief. What would I not have endured then of insult and contumely, rather than suffer the terrible load upon my conscience of a fellow-creature's blood, shed in pa.s.sion and revenge!

How willingly would I have accepted the most despised position among men to be void of this crime!

"It matters not," cried I, in my despair--"it matters not how I guide my path, misfortunes beset me at every turn of the way--"

"Speak not thus," said the general, sternly. "The career you have embarked in is a stormy and a rough one. Other men have fared worse than you have in it,--and without repining too. You knew of one such yourself, who in all the saddest bereavements of his hopes cherished a soldier's heart and a soldier's courage."

The allusion to my poor friend, Charles de Meudon, brought the tears to my eyes, and I felt that all my sufferings were little compared with his.

"Let your first care be to get well as soon as you can: happily your name may escape the Emperor's notice in this affair by appearing in the list of wounded; our friend the maitre d'armes is not likely to discover on you. The campaign is begun, however, and you must try to take your share of it. The Emperor's staff starts for Munich to-morrow. I must accompany them; but I leave you in good hands here, and this detachment will occupy Elchingen at least ten days longer."

Scarcely had the general left me when mademoiselle re-entered the room.

"So Monsieur," said she, smiling archly, "you have been left in my care, it seems. Morbleu! it's well the vivandire of the regiment is not a prude, or I should scarcely know how to act. Well, well, one can only do one's best. And now, shall I read for you, or shall I leave you quiet for an hour or two?"

"Just so; leave him alone for a little while," said a gruff voice from the end of the bed, at the same time that the huge beard and red mustache of Pioche appeared peeping above the curtain.

"Is he not stupid, that great animal of a cuira.s.sier?" said mademoiselle, starting at the voice so unexpectedly heard. "I say, mon caporal, right face,--march. Do you hear, sir? You 've got the feuille de route; what do you stay for?"

"Ah, Mademoiselle!" said the poor fellow, as he smoothed down his hair on his forehead, and looked the very impersonation of sheepish admiration.

"Well?" replied she, as if not understanding his appeal to her feelings--"well?"

A look of total embarra.s.sment, an expression of complete bewilderment, was his only reply; while his eyes wandered round the room till they met mine; and then, as if suddenly conscious that a third party was present, he blushed deeply, and said,--

"Too true, mon lieutenant; she does with me what she will."

"Don't believe him. Monsieur," interposed she, quickly. "I told him to get knocked on the head a dozen times, and he 's never done so."

"I would though, and right soon too, if you were only in earnest," said he, with a vehemence that bespoke the truth of the a.s.sertion.

"There, there," said she, with a smile, as she held out her hand to him; "we are friends."

The poor fellow pressed it to his lips with the respectful devotion of a Bayard; and with a muttered "This evening," left the room.

"It is no small triumph, Mademoiselle," said I, "that you have inspired such a pa.s.sion in the hardy breast of the cuira.s.sier."

A saucy shake of the head, as though she did not like the compliment, was the only reply. She bent her head down over her work, and seemed absorbed in its details; while I, reverting to my own cares, became silent also.