"Then you are like all the rest; and you lead me to suppose that our friends were right in the judgment they formed on you as well as on me."
"I don't see that; how so?"
"You think, as they do, that I am wanting in courage." Then, as Mary and Bertha were beginning to examine the wound, "Let the poor fellow's wound alone," she continued, "I--and I alone, do you hear me?--will dress it."
Taking her scissors Petit-Pierre slit up the sleeve of the Vendéan's jacket, which was stuck to the arm by the dried blood, opened the wound, washed it, covered it with lint and deftly bandaged it. Just as she was finishing her work the wounded peasant opened his eyes and recovered his senses.
"What news?" asked the marquis, unable to restrain himself a moment longer.
"Alas!" said the man; "our gars, who were conquerors at first, are now repulsed."
Petit-Pierre, who did not blanch while attending to the wound, grew as white as the linen she was using for bandages; and putting in a last pin to hold it, she seized the marquis by the arm and drew him toward the door.
"Marquis," she said, "you, who saw the Blues in the great war, tell me, what was done when the nation was in danger?"
"Done?" cried the marquis. "Why, everybody ran to arms."
"Even the women?"