The rapidity of the assault, for a second or so, completely overcame me; and though I defended myself mechanically, I could neither follow his weapon with my eye nor anticipate his intended thrust. Twice his point touched my sword-arm above the wrist, and by a slight wound there, saved my lungs from being pierced. At last, after a desperate rally, in which he broke in on my guard, he made a fearful lunge at my chest. I bent forward, and received his blade in the muscles of my back, when, with a wheel round, I smashed the sword in me, and buried my own up to the hilt in his body. He fell bathed in blood; and I, staggering backwards, was caught in Pioche's arms at the moment when all consciousness was fast leaving me.
A few minutes after I came to myself, and found that I was lying on a heap of straw in the yard, while two regimental surgeons were most industriously engaged in trying to stop the hemorrhage of my wounds.
With little interest in my own fate, I could not help feeling anxious about my antagonist. They shook their heads mournfully in reply to my question, and desired me to be as calm as possible, for my life hung on a very thread. The dressing completed, I was carried into the house, and laid on a bed in a small, neat-looking chamber, which I heard, as they carried me along, mademoiselle had kindly placed at my disposal. She herself assisted to place the pillow beneath my head, and then with noiseless gesture closed the curtains of the window, and took her seat at the bedside.
The moment the others had left the room, I turned to ask for' the maitre d'armes. But she could only say that his companions of the Fourth had carried him away to the ambulance, refusing all offers of aid except from the surgeons of their own corps.
“They say,” added she, with a naïve simplicity, “that François is not made like other folk, and that the only doctors who understand him are in the Fourth Regiment. However that may be, it will puzzle them sadly this time; you have given him his coup de congé.”
“I hope not, sincerely,” said I, with a shudder.
“And why not?” cried mademoiselle, in astonishment. “Is it not a good service you render to the whole brigade? Would not the division be all the happier if such as he, and Pichot, and the rest of them—”
“Pichot,—Amédée Pichot?”
“Yes, Amédée Pichot, to be sure. But what's that knocking outside? Ah, there 's Pioche at the window!”
Mademoiselle arose and walked towards the door; but before she reached it, it was opened, and General d'Auvergne entered the room.