The Chouan shook his head with a little smile, and as they stood side by side waiting for the soldiers to tie them together, the younger man pulled out from his breast the miniature of a girl, and showed it to him without a word.
"Believe me, it will not hurt," said La Vireville in a low voice as their turn came. "I have seen men shot by a firing-party before now. It is over so quickly that they know nothing about it." (Perhaps the youth would have the luck never to find out that this statement was not always true.) "It is nothing near so painful as being tied up like this when one is winged.—De grâce, corporal, put that cord round my right arm instead, if my friend has no objection!"
The two changed places, and La Vireville restored his wounded arm to the sling. Before the cord was knotted the officer in charge of the party began to read out the names. Every man answered to his own.
"La Vireville, Fortuné."
"Present."
The officer looked up from the list. "You are not to go with this batch. Why the devil have you tied him up, corporal?"
"Not to . . . not to go . . ." stammered La Vireville, thinking he must be already dead—and dreaming. "It must be a mistake—you are confusing me with someone else!"
"Untie him!" said the officer briefly, offering no explanation; and the corporal, grumbling a little, obeyed.
"This is horrible!" said La Vireville to his comrade, a comrade no longer. "Dieu, why did I answer to my name! If I had had the least idea, you should have answered instead."
"You are wanted to give somebody else the courage you have given me," answered the young man with an attempt at a smile. "You permit, Monsieur?" And he kissed him.