First of all he must take him away, for the troops finished off all the wounded insurgents they found. They were alone together, fortunately; still there was not a moment to be lost. Taking his knife, he quickly ripped open the sleeve of Maurice's uniform, and took the garment off him. Blood was flowing, so he made all haste to bandage the arm firmly with some strips of lining which he tore away from the tunic he had removed. Next he plugged the body-wound and fastened the arm tightly over it with a bit of cord which he fortunately found in his pocket. Barbarous as was this dressing, it was effective, for it rendered the injured parts immovable and prevented hæmorrhage.
'Can you walk?'
'Yes, I think so.'
Nevertheless, Jean did not dare to lead him away like that in his shirt-sleeves. And a sudden inspiration coming to him he ran off into an adjacent street, where he had seen the corpse of a soldier lying, and speedily came back with a military great-coat and cap. He threw the former upon Maurice's shoulders, and helped him to pass his uninjured arm through the left sleeve. Then, when he had set the cap upon his head, he exclaimed: 'There, now you are one of us! Where shall we go?'
That was the question, and all Jean's anguish of mind returned again just as he was awakening to hope and courage. Where could he find a secure shelter-place? The houses were searched; all the Communists taken with arms in their hands or whose appearance indicated that they had been fighting were summarily shot. Moreover, neither of them knew a soul in that neighbourhood to whom they might apply for shelter, or any safe place in which they might hide their heads. 'After all, my room would be the best,' at last said Maurice; 'the house is in a retired spot, and nobody is likely to come there. But it is on the other side of the river, in the Rue des Orties.'
In his irresolution and despair Jean continued mumbling oaths: 'Thunder! how can we manage it?'
It was no use to think of crossing the Pont-Royal, which the conflagrations were lighting up as with a vivid noontide glow. On this point shots were at every moment being fired from either bank of the river. And besides, once across this bridge, they would have run against an impassable barrier—the Tuileries in flames, and the Louvre guarded and barricaded.
'Then we are done for; there's no means of crossing,' declared Jean, who knew something of Paris, having lived there for six months or so on his return from the Italian war.[57]
Suddenly, however, an idea occurred to him. If, as in former times, there were any boats moored at the water's edge near the Pont-Royal, they might embark in one of them, and in this wise cross the river. It would be a long and dangerous job, and by no means an easy one; but they had no choice in the matter, and must make up their minds at once. 'Listen, youngster,' said Jean; 'let's get away from here at any rate; it's a dangerous spot. I shall account for my absence by telling my lieutenant that the Communards captured me, but that I managed to escape.'
Grasping Maurice's uninjured arm, he helped him to walk to the end of the Rue du Bac, between the burning houses, which were now flaring from basement to garret like so many huge torches. A shower of burning brands fell upon them as they passed along, and the heat was so intense that all the hair upon their faces was singed. And when they came out on the quay, they stopped short for a moment, fairly blinded by the frightful blaze of the conflagrations, which were throwing up huge sheaves of flame upon both banks of the Seine.