This was such astounding news that Bavois was utterly confounded for a moment.
“Ah! I will give my right hand, if necessary, to save him!” he exclaimed, at last.
“If it is possible to save him, he will be saved, my friend. That worthy priest whom you see there, is an excellent physician. He is examining Monsieur d’Escorval’s wounds now. It was by his order that we procured and lighted this candle, which may bring our enemies upon us at any moment; but this is not a time for hesitation.”
Bavois looked with all his eyes, but from where he was standing he could discover only a confused group of moving figures.
“I would like to see the poor man,” he said, sadly.
“Come nearer, my good fellow; fear nothing!”
He stepped forward, and by the flickering light of the candle which Marie-Anne held, he saw a spectacle which moved him more than the horrors of the bloodiest battle-field.
The baron was lying upon the ground, his head supported on Mme. d’Escorval’s knee.
His face was not disfigured; but he was pale as death itself, and his eyes were closed.
At intervals a convulsive shudder shook his frame, and a stream of blood gushed from his mouth. His clothing was hacked—literally hacked in pieces; and it was easy to see that his body had sustained many frightful wounds.