"Only a flesh wound," replied La Vireville, glancing down at it indifferently. "A splinter of shell, I think; I was knocked down by one." He went and looked down at the dead officer by the wall, and came back without saying anything. "I must get back to what is left of my men. Poor Le Goffic is badly wounded. I only came to make sure of your safety, René."
The Marquis was on his feet now. "But for one thing," said he, suddenly finding speech, and pointing to the quiet figure under the cloak, "I would rather be in his place."
"I can guess what that thing is," returned La Vireville, making to go; "but though I have no son, like you, to live for, and the man I have hated so long is dead—I think he saved my life—yet I want to live . . . for to-morrow."
"Will there be a to-morrow?" asked the Marquis de Flavigny, with sombre emphasis.
La Vireville, who was already half-way to the door, stopped dead, and turned to face that question.
"No, René, perhaps not," said he very gravely, and there was a silence.
"There is now only the fort between us and Hoche's advance," went on the Marquis. "If that goes, we shall be swept into the sea."
"I know," replied the Chouan. He seemed to be waiting still for something else to be said.
De Flavigny came up to him and took his hand. "Fortuné, I have a great favour to ask of you, and I must ask you now, for I have a presentiment that I shall never have another chance to make the request."
"Ask," said his friend.