"I listened when it was hinted to me that you were not honest," he cried, "that you were not seeking the money at all, or that you had already recovered it! I have watched you as if you were a thief—Mon Dieu, what a scoundrel I have been."
"At all events you have the money now."
"Yes." He paused, fingering the papers, while he thoughtfully looked down into the valley. "Yes, Dick—and it cannot buy me what I want."
Thus we are, and always shall be, when we possess at length that for which we have long yearned.
We made a further search in Miste's pockets, and found nothing. The man's clothing was of the finest, and his linen most clean and delicate. I had a queer feeling of regret that he should be dead—having wanted his life these many months and now possessing it. Ah—those accomplished desires! They stalk through life behind us—an army of silent ghosts. For months afterwards I missed him—incomprehensible though this may appear. A good foe is a tonic to the heart. Some of us are virtuous for the sake of our friends—others pay the tribute to their foes.
There was still plenty of work for us to do, though neither was in a state to execute it. My left arm had stiffened right down to the fingers, which kept closing up despite my endeavours to keep life and movement in them. The hurt in my cheek had fortunately ceased bleeding, and Giraud bound it up with Miste's handkerchief. I recall the scent of the fine cambric to this day, and when I smell a like odour see a dead man lying on a snow-field.
We composed Miste in a decent attitude, with his slim hands crossed on his breast, and then turned our steps downward towards St. Martin Lantosque. To one who had never known a day's illness, the fatigue consequent upon the loss of so much blood was particularly irksome, and I cursed my luck many a time as we stumbled over the snow. Giraud would not let me finish the brandy in his flask, but kept some for an emergency.
The peasants were at work in the fields when we at length reached the valley, and took no heed of us. We told no one of Miste lying alone on the snow far above, but went straight to the gendarmerie, where we found the chief—a sensible man, himself an old soldier—who heard our story to an end without interruption, and promised to give us all assistance. He sent at once for the doctor, and held my shoulder tenderly while the ball was taken from it. This he kept, together with Miste's revolver, and indeed acted throughout with the greatest shrewdness and good sense. As an old campaigner he strongly urged me to remain quietly at St. Martin for a few days until the fever which inevitably follows a bullet wound should have abated; but, on learning that it was my intention to proceed at once to Genoa, placed no difficulty in my way.
Knowing that I should find Sander at Genoa, where I could be tended, Giraud decided to remain at St. Martin Lantosque until Miste had been buried and all formalities observed.
So I set forth alone about midday—in a private carriage placed at my disposal by some local good Samaritan—feeling like a worm and no man.