Maurice, however, contented himself with answering gaily: 'How silly you are!'
He had taken his friend by the arm and was now helping him along, both of them being eager to get away. By an heroic effort they had managed to take a few steps, when they again halted, alarmed at seeing a house in front of them, a little farm, so it seemed, on the verge of the wood. There was no light in any of the windows, the yard-gate was wide open, and the building looked black and empty. And when they had mustered sufficient courage to enter the yard, they were astonished to find a horse standing near the house, saddled and bridled, but with nothing to show why or how it had come there. Perhaps its master would soon return; perhaps he was lying behind some bush with his head split. But whatever the truth was, they never learned it.
A new plan, however, had suddenly dawned on Maurice's mind and quite inspirited him. 'Listen,' said he, 'the frontier is too far away; and besides, we should really require a guide to reach it. But if we went to Remilly now, to uncle Fouchard's, I'm sure that I could take you there with my eyes shut, for I know all the lanes and by-ways. Is it agreed, eh? I'll hoist you on to this horse, and we'll get uncle Fouchard to take us in.'
Before starting, however, he wished to examine Jean's leg. There were two holes in it, so that the bullet must have passed out again, probably after fracturing the tibia. Fortunately, the hæmorrhage was but slight, and Maurice contented himself with binding his handkerchief tightly round the calf of the leg.
'Go on by yourself!' repeated Jean.
'Be quiet, you silly!'
When Jean was firmly perched on the saddle Maurice took hold of the horse's bridle and they started off. It must now have been about eleven o'clock, and he hoped to accomplish the journey in three hours, even should he have to walk the horse the entire distance. But all at once he relapsed into despair at thought of a difficulty which had not previously occurred to him. How would they be able to cross over to the left bank of the Meuse? The bridge at Mouzon must certainly be guarded. At last he remembered that there was a ferry lower down at Villers, and deciding to chance it, in the hope that they would at last meet with a little luck, he directed his course towards that village through the meadows and ploughed fields on the right bank. All went fairly well at first; they merely had to avoid a cavalry patrol, which they escaped by remaining motionless for a quarter of an hour or so, in the shadow thrown by a wall. The only worry was that, the rain having begun to fall again, walking became very difficult for Maurice, who had to trudge through the heavy soil of the drenched fields, beside the horse, which was fortunately a good-natured, docile animal. At Villers luck did at first declare itself in their favour, for, although the hour was late, the ferryman had but a few minutes before brought a Bavarian officer across the river, and was able to take them aboard at once, and land them on the opposite bank without difficulty. It was only at the village of Villers that their terrible troubles began, for they here narrowly missed falling into the clutches of the sentries who were posted at intervals right along the road to Remilly. They, therefore, again had to take to the fields and trust to the chances of the little lanes and narrow pathways, which often were scarcely practicable. Occasionally some trivial obstacle would compel them to take a most circuitous course; still they contrived to make their way over ditches and through hedges, and at times even forced a passage through some thick plantation.
Seized with fever amid the drizzling rain, Jean had sunk across the saddle in a semi-conscious state, clinging with both hands to the horse's mane, whilst Maurice, who had slipped the reins round his right arm, had to support his friend's legs in order to prevent him from falling. Over more than a league of country, during nearly a couple of hours, was this exhausting march kept up, amid incessant jolting and slipping, both the horse and the men losing their balance again and again, and almost toppling over together. They became a picture of abject wretchedness; all three of them were covered with mud, the animal's legs trembled, the man he carried lay upon him inert, like a corpse that had just given up the ghost, whilst if the other man, distracted and haggard, still managed to trudge along, it was solely through an effort of his fraternal love. The dawn was breaking; it was about five o'clock when they at last arrived at Remilly.
In the yard of his little farmhouse overlooking the village, near the outlet of the defile of Haraucourt, old Fouchard was already loading his cart with two sheep which he had slaughtered the previous day. The sight of his nephew in so sorry a plight upset him to such a point that after the first words of explanation he brutally exclaimed: 'Let you stay here, you and your friend? To have a lot of worry with the Prussians; no, no, indeed! I'd rather kick the bucket at once.'
All the same, he did not dare to prevent Prosper and Maurice from taking Jean off the horse and laying him on the large table in the living-room. The wounded man was still unconscious, and Silvine went to fetch her own bolster and slipped it under his head. Meanwhile uncle Fouchard continued growling, exasperated at seeing this fellow on his table, which, said he, was by no means the proper place for him. And he asked them why they did not at once take him to the ambulance, since they were lucky enough to have an ambulance at Remilly, in the disused school-house, which had once formed part of an old convent. It stood near the church and contained a large and commodious gallery.