Not a moment was now to be lost. I dashed my spurs into my jaded horse, and rode forwards, calling aloud, at the top of my voice, “The Emperor! the Emperor!” Still, the panic overbore my words, and another discharge was given: with one bullet I was struck in the shoulder, another killed my horse; but springing to my legs in an instant, I rushed on, repeating my cry. Before I could do more than point to the spot, Napoleon came forward, leading his horse by the bridle. His step was slow and measured, and his face—for many a torchlight was now gathered to the place—was calm and tranquil.
“Ye are well upon the alert, mes enfant!” said he, with a smile; “see that ye be as ready with your fire to-morrow!” A wild cheer answered these words, while he continued: “These are the new levies, Lieutenant; the Guards would have had more patience. Where is the officer who followed me?”
“Here, Sire,” said I, endeavoring to conceal the appearance of being wounded.
“Mount, sir, and accompany me to headquarters.”
“My horse is killed, Sire.”
“Yes, parbleu!” said a young soldier, who had not learned much respect before his superiors; “and he has a ball in his neck himself.”
“Are you wounded?” said the Emperor, with a quickness in his manner.
“A mere flesh-wound in the arm,—of no consequence, Sire.”
“Let the surgeon of the detachment see to this at once, Lieutenant,” said he to the officer of the party; “and do you come to headquarters when you are able.”