The boy had not allowed for such speed.
"Toi de l'autre côté de la chaumière. Moi ici!" called the swifter of the two.
He flashed behind the cottage, and flashed up again round the gable- end.
Kit recognised him. It was François, his friend of the dawn.
"Tiens! c'est toi, mon gars!" cried the man, with a quick smile.
A simple countryman, this François, he was a soldier because he had to be. That business beyond the wall, where the swords and shouts were, was little to his liking. This was a job after his own heart. He was a boy playing prisoner's base with another boy. Neither would be hurt.
So as he slewed round the gable-end he smiled.
Kit saw the smile and resented it. It angered him that this fellow did not take him seriously. He had not to resent it for long.
The smile died a swift and terrible death on François' face.
"Dâme!" he screamed, and slithered back on his heels. A musket barrel was thrusting into his flank.