And in selfish dread, when again night fell,
From her door she thrust us, and bade us fly;
Yet she flung me a blouse, and bonnet rouge,
That none should my soldier’s dress descry.
“Bribed with the little one’s rosary—
Le voici, I have it here on my breast;
I brought it back for its weight in gold—
A fellow I drew aside from the rest,
Let us slip by while he kept the guard,
And like hunted deer for the woods we pressed.