But Emile did not wait for Duval to raise the weapon. Before the General had time to cock it, Emile had already bolted out of the room, and hurrying down the stairs, ran out of the front gate as fast as his legs could carry him.
Duval rushed after him and fired several shots, but his wounded arm prevented him from taking a steady aim, and Emile was speedily out of range.
The General returned to his room, and lay down on the sofa in a state of complete exhaustion. Nearly half an hour had elapsed before he was sufficiently recuperated to ring the bell and order the carriage to be got ready. He slowly went upstairs, and put on his uniform assisted by his valet.
"Buckle on my sword as well, Robert, I don't feel my real self without my trusty sword and revolver."
Robert appeared terribly scared at the appearance of his master, but knew him too well to venture on any remark, or to let him perceive that he saw it.
"You need not wait up for me, Robert," he said in a calm and measured voice which presented a marked contrast to his previous excited and furious tones, and now bore traces of strong determination mingled with unutterable sadness. "I don't like to say so, Robert, but I feel somehow that I may be addressing you for the last time. You will have no reason to forget me, Robert, you have been a faithful servant to me, and I have not forgotten you in my will."
"Oh! mon Général, do not talk like that," said Robert, weeping, "I cannot bear to think that misfortune could overtake you."
The General was deeply moved at the old servant's words, and pouring out a glass of brandy, handed it to him.
Robert for the moment was too astonished to drink it, and looked at his master for some explanation of his altogether unusual conduct.
"Drink it, drink it, my good fellow," said Duval, "I do not like leaving without some slight token of my regard for you," and so saying he filled another glass, and with a nod of approval clinked it against his valet's, and drank to his health.