“He is behind. They have passed him.”
“Then how can I go back? If I go forward I may see him yet. I must obey my orders and find him whereever he is.”
The man reflected for an instant.
“Quick! quick!” he cried, seizing my bridle. “Do what I say and you may yet escape. They have not observed you yet. Come with me and I will hide you until they pass.”
Behind his house there was a low stable, and into this he thrust Violette. Then he half led and half dragged me into the kitchen of the inn. It was a bare, brick-floored room. A stout, red-faced woman was cooking cutlets at the fire.
“What's the matter now?” she asked, looking with a frown from me to the innkeeper. “Who is this you have brought in?”
“It is a French officer, Marie. We cannot let the Prussians take him.”
“Why not?”
“Why not? Sacred name of a dog, was I not myself a soldier of Napoleon? Did I not win a musket of honour among the Velites of the Guard? Shall I see a comrade taken before my eyes? Marie, we must save him.” But the lady looked at me with most unfriendly eyes.
“Pierre Charras,” she said, “you will not rest until you have your house burned over your head. Do you not understand, you blockhead, that if you fought for Napoleon it was because Napoleon ruled Belgium? He does so no longer. The Prussians are our allies and this is our enemy. I will have no Frenchman in this house. Give him up!”