But Pasdeloup hurled himself before him down the stair, through that choking cloud of smoke. We were at his heels, and when we reached the floor below I saw him tearing down the tinder-dry tapestry, which was blazing fiercely. In a moment we had stamped out the flames upon the torn and splintered floor.
“They must not do that a second time,” said M. le Comte when the danger was past. “I thought the windows were shuttered.”
Pasdeloup went quickly to the window through which the bomb had come.
“This shutter is swinging loose,” he said, and leaned coolly out to secure it.
A chorus of hoarse yells greeted him and a spatter of musket shots. I heard the bullets clipping the stones about him; but he heeded them not at all and pulled the heavy shutter into place and secured it with careful deliberation.
“We must look to the others,” he said calmly when that was done, and himself made the circuit of the other windows to assure himself that the shutters were in place.
“Bring down the candle, Tavernay,” said M. le Comte. “We must see what damage has been done here.”
Not until it blazed up from the spark which Pasdeloup struck into it did I suspect that he was injured. Then, as the flame burned clearly, I perceived a smear of blood across his face.
“Not wounded, Pasdeloup?” cried M. le Comte, whose eyes had been caught by the same red stain.
“Only a scratch, monsieur,” Pasdeloup replied; but his master was not satisfied until he had wiped away the blood and assured himself that the wound was indeed a slight one. A bullet had grazed Pasdeloup’s forehead, cutting in the skin a clean furrow which was bleeding copiously. Pasdeloup submitted to this inspection with evident impatience.