Springing to the ground, I raised his head on my knees, and saw that the bullet had gone through his corslet just above the lower rim. "Jesu Maria!" cried he, opening his eyes, from which the light of life was fleeting fast--"Jesu Maria!--"
"I am afraid you are badly hurt, Garcias," cried I, more painfully affected by his situation than I could have imagined.
"I am dying, señor!" muttered he in Spanish--"I am dying! Thank you for your care--your kindness. It is vain--I am dying! Oh, señor--François Derville! that unhappy man--do you remember--how I slew him at the mill! I wish I had not done it--I can see him now! Oh, I wish I had not done it--Sancta Maria! ora pro----"
The heavy cloud of death fell dully down upon the clear bright eye. Fire, and soul, and meaning, passed away, and Garcias was nothing.
I bade my servants, who were still with me, carry him to the rear; and springing on my horse again, galloped forward, to see if I could restore some order to my troop.
By this time, however, all was confusion. The field was scattered with small parties of horsemen riding here and there, and cutting down or making prisoners the few of the enemy that remained. Nothing was to be seen but heaps of dead and dying, masterless horses flying over the plain, cannon and waggons overturned, long files of prisoners, and groups of stragglers plundering the fallen; while part of the village of Chaumont appeared burning on our right, and towards the left was distinguished a regiment of the enemy, who had still maintained their order, and were retreating over the opposite hill, fast but firmly. The rear-rank was seen to face about at every twenty or thirty yards, and by a heavy regular fire drive back a strong body of cavalry that hung upon their retreat. Gathering together about twenty of my men, I rode as fast as I could to the spot, and arrived just at the moment the enemy faced and gave us a volley. If I may use the expression, it made our cavalry reel, and more than one empty saddle presented itself; but what engaged my attention was, to behold in the officer commanding this last regiment of the enemy, the Chevalier de Montenero.
As I was gazing at him, to assure myself that my eyes did not deceive me, the Duke of Bouillon rode up, and demanded where were the greater part of my men, in a tone that did not particularly please me. "They are where the greater part of your own are, my lord," replied I; "some dead, some plundering, some following the enemy."
"If that be the case," rejoined he, sharply, "you had better go and join them yourself; for Monsieur de l'Orme and half a dozen men are no service to me."
"You speak rudely, Monsieur de Bouillon," replied I; "and methinks on a day of such victory as this, you might conduct yourself differently to one who has shared in the dangers of the struggle, whether he shares in its advantages or not." The duke's visor was up, and he coloured highly; but without waiting for reply, I turned my rein, and rode away.
My men, who had only followed me in the hope of more fighting, seeing me leave the spot where it was going on, turned to the trade they liked next in degree, and separated to plunder as before. Without caring much how they employed themselves for the moment, I rode back towards the spot where I had before seen the Count de Soissons, and pushing my horse up the hill, I saw him still posted on a little eminence, with a group of his officers and attendants at the distance of about a dozen yards behind him--he seeming to enjoy the sight of the field he had won, and the others apparently discussing with some animation the events that had lately passed.