“An hour, perhaps; not more, certainly.”
“But am I certain of your services then, Louis?” said the general, trying to smile. “You know I always promised myself your aid when this hour came.”
“I shall return in an hour,” replied the doctor, pulling out his watch; “I am going to Rapp's quarters.”
“Poor Rapp! is he wounded?”
“A mere sabre-cut; but Sebastiani has suffered more severely. Now then, Lanusse,” said he, addressing the young surgeon, “you remain here. Continue as you are doing, and in an hour—”
“In an hour,” echoed the wounded man, with a shudder, as though the anticipation of the dreadful event had thrilled through his very heart. Nor was it till the retiring sounds of the surgeon's horse had died away in the distance that his features recovered their former calm and tranquil expression.
“A prompt fellow is Louis,” said he, after a pause; “and though one might like somewhat more courtesy in the Faubourg, yet on the field of battle it is all for the best; this is no place nor time for compliments.”
The young man answered not a word, either not daring to criticise too harshly his superior, or perhaps his emotion at the moment was too strong for utterance. In reply to my offer to remain with him, however, he thanked me heartily, and seemed gratified that he was not to be left alone in such a trying emergency.
“Come,” said St. Hilaire, after a pause, “I have asked for time, and am already forgetting how to employ it. Who can write here? Can you, Guilbert?”
“Alas, no, sir!” said a dark grenadier, blushing to the very eyes.