“Great Heavens!” ejaculated Artamène. This was indeed an evening of surprises.
“I was,” said Lucien, complacently, “composing a proclamation in rhyme to the patauds of this canton. It was to begin——”
“Never mind that,” cut in Artamène ruthlessly. “Two much more interesting things have happened while you have been asl——I mean awake. The first is, that M. l’Abbé has returned from Mirabel——”
Lucien sat up in bed. “Laus Deo!” he exclaimed. “And has he got—it?”
“He wouldn’t tell me,” said the enquirer, “but I think from his manner that he has not been unsuccessful. However, the second thing is even more momentous. M. le Marquis and M. le Comte have just come back from a moonlight stroll in the direction of the forest, M. le Marquis as white as a sheet, with blood all over the sleeve of his coat and his right arm tucked into his breast.”
“Good God!” ejaculated Lucien, bounding upon his couch.
“Chut! don’t wake the others! (It will be impossible to keep it quiet, though.) It appears that they met a Blue in the forest—or at any rate a Blue was in the forest, dropped, perhaps like an acorn from a tree, for I know not how otherwise he could have been there—and he shot at and wounded M. le Marquis—one doesn’t yet know how seriously—and then, apparently, M. de Brencourt settled the hash of the Blue. At least, he fired and hit him; though he thinks the fellow got away. Now, what do you think of that for a Breton night’s entertainment? Don’t sit on your bed looking like an owl, Monsieur du Boisfossé!”
“An owl,” replied the young man unperturbed, “is the emblem of wisdom, also of us Chouans. I am thinking this, my Artamène, that while lying here engaged in the labours of composition, I heard, far away—so far away that I did not think it worth while disturbing the slumbers of the officer of the guard——”
“Well, what did you hear?” asked his friend, kicking him gently in return for this thrust.
“A shot—one shot,” replied Lucien.