“Look here, my friend,” said Tournier, calmly, “we have no wish to attend your funeral at Yaxley, or to have you shut up in the barracks all the rest of your time. So, if you will pass your word of honour to me that you will not again attempt to escape, and come back with us, no one shall know anything about this matter; and, as you will remember, your parole from the major extends over to-morrow, so you will be all right in that quarter.”
Villemet made no reply. The proposal was
hard of digestion in his very ruffled state, but there was certainly gilt on the gingerbread.
“And what if I refuse your gracious offer?” at last he said.
“Then, in that case,” replied Tournier, “we shall tie your feet under the belly of this noble steed, with our pistols at full cock, lest he should run away, and take you back in triumph to Norman Cross to meet the fate you deserve.”
The compact was made, and faithfully adhered to.
All parties concerned kept the secret well, and happily the air of Yaxley was unfavourable to idle gossip.
* * * * *
The overpowering sense of weariness and impatience which must have afflicted the prisoners, as in the case of Villemet, had its simplest and most direct antidote in occupation. A well known German poet has said, that occupation and sympathy are the two great remedies for grief of all sorts. Happily there were a great
many of the prisoners who tried the first of these specifics. They spent a considerable portion of their time in making a variety of articles of more or less elaborate workmanship, and in many cases of great artistic beauty. Indeed, it is difficult which to admire most, the skill displayed in their work, or the dexterity with which they turned to account the very limited material that was within their reach—for the most part wood, straw, and beef-bones. It is surprising what delicate things they produced out of the last, which the kitchen supplied them with in abundance.