"Faith, and I hope that it's not falling back we'll be, till after we've had the satisfaction of spaking to them a bit," Tim Doyle put in. "Barring the little affair of today--which isn't worth mentioning--I haven't had a chance of a scrimmage since I joined the corps. It's been jist marching and counter-marching, over the most onraisonable country; nothing but up hill and down hill and through trees, with big stones breaking our poor feet into pieces, and the rain running down us fit to give us the ague.
"Sure, lieutenant, ye won't be for marching us away, till we've had a little divarshin?"
The boys all laughed at Tim's complaint, which had been delivered in English; for although he could now understand French, he never attempted to speak it, except to ask some necessary question. Percy translated it to the lieutenant.
"You will have fighting enough, before you have done, Tim. Whether you will have it tomorrow, I don't know. There are a hundred infantry--they can't use their cavalry--and we are only twenty-six men, all told. Fortunately, we have a strong line of retreat; or I should not even wait for the chance of being attacked."
"At any rate, you think that we are safe until morning, sir?"
"Yes, I think so," the lieutenant said.
"Then we will go in to our dinner," Ralph said. "Who knows where we may dine, tomorrow?"
Day was just beginning to break, when Percy Barclay started up in his bed. He listened for an instant, and heard the crack of a rifle.
"Up, Ralph; up all of you!" he shouted. "We are attacked."
The others were on their feet in an instant. None of them had thought of undressing and, as they seized their arms and equipments, the whistle of Lieutenant de Maupas sounded loud and shrill. As they issued out there was, already, a scene of bustle and confusion in the village. The franc tireurs were rushing from the doors. The villagers were also pouring out, women screaming and men swearing.