“Of course.”
“Well, the Gauls are taken in a trap, and after all is over I hope that one of those snowstorms will come down from the pass to cover all that the amphitheatre will have to show. It’s terrible work, my boy.”
“Horrible! Horrible indeed!” sighed Marcus, as he looked sadly round at the traces of the fight that had taken place about the fallen horse.
“Yes, my lad, I can’t help thinking just the same,” said the old soldier, as he stooped to pick up the spear he had laid down while he bound his young companion’s wound, and leaned upon the staff as he gazed straight away in the direction where the fight seemed to be raging still.
And the time passed on, till the tumult died away, and the old soldier stood watching still and waiting anxiously, while Marcus lay silent in the troubled sleep that came to dull his pain.
At last the boy stirred, and Serge bent over him.
“Awake, boy?” he said.
“Yes, Serge. Have been asleep?”
“Yes.”
Marcus gazed around him, and shuddered at the traces of the fight.