'Youngster,' resumed Jean in a trembling voice, when they had ceased clasping one another, 'it's already a good deal to be here, but we are not at the end of the job. We must take our bearings a little.'
Although he was not acquainted with this point of the frontier, Maurice declared that they need only go on before them; and thereupon gliding along, one behind the other, they stealthily made their way to the verge of the plantations. Here they remembered the directions given them by the obliging fat gentleman, and resolved to turn to the left and cut across the stubble. But they almost at once came upon a road edged with poplars, and perceived the watchfire of a Prussian picket barring the way. A sentinel's bayonet glistened in the firelight; the other men were chatting and finishing their evening meal. At this sight Jean and Maurice at once retraced their steps and again plunged into the wood, with the fear of being pursued. They fancied indeed they could hear voices and footsteps behind them, and continued beating about the thickets during more than an hour, losing all idea of the directions they took, turning round and round, at times breaking into a gallop like hares scampering under the bushes, and at others stopping short and perspiring with anguish in front of some motionless oak trees which they mistook for Prussians. And at last they once more debouched into the road lined with poplars, at ten paces or so from the sentinel, and near the other men who were now quietly warming themselves around the watchfire.
'No luck!' growled Maurice, 'it's an enchanted wood.'
This time, however, they had been heard. They had broken a few twigs in passing, and some stones were rolling away. And as, upon hearing the sentinel's 'Wer da?' they immediately took to their heels without answering, the picket rushed to arms and fired in their direction, riddling the thicket with bullets.
'Curse it!' swore Jean in a hollow voice, restraining a cry of pain. The calf of his left leg had received a stinging blow, not unlike the cut of a whip, but so violent that it had thrown him to the ground against a tree.
'Are you hit?' asked Maurice anxiously.
'Yes, in the leg—it's done for.'
They both listened again, panting, with the fear of hearing the tumult of pursuit at their heels. But no further shots were fired, and nothing more stirred in the great quivering silence, which was falling around them again. The Prussians evidently did not care to venture among the trees. However, in trying to set himself erect Jean was hardly able to restrain a groan. Maurice held him up, and asked:
'Can you walk?'
'I'm afraid not.' He, as a rule so calm, was now becoming enraged. He clenched his fists, and felt inclined to hit himself: 'Ah! good Lord! how fearfully unlucky to get one's leg damaged when there's so much running to be done! I may just as well fling myself on a rubbish heap at once! Go on by yourself.'