"Ah, no, monsieur," replied the old man, bending over the bed and gazing with poignancy of affection at the haggard face. "It would kill him."
Burton pondered, while Pierre spoke gently to his master's son and poured wine between his lips. The captain's eyes were eloquent of gratitude.
"There is only one thing to be done," said Burton at last. "Our army is slowly advancing: we must hold the château until it comes."
"But, monsieur, it is impossible!" cried the old man. "The Bosches are in the house: they fill the village."
"True; but this wing is defensible against anything except artillery, and we have a valuable hostage in the major. Let us see what monsieur le marquis says."
They went to the room where they had left the old general and his wife. Burton explained to the former what he had already done, and what he proposed to do. There was a gleam in the old soldier's eyes.
"Ma foi, monsieur, la bonne idée!" he cried. "It makes me young again." Then he glanced at his wife, and his face was full of trouble. "Chérie," he said, "there will be danger. It will be no place for you. Will you not go to the curé's? It is dark: Pierre would lead you across the fields."
"Mon ami," replied the old lady firmly, taking the general's hand, "my place is with you and with Fernand. Is it for nothing that I am a soldier's wife?"
The marquis pressed her hand; his eyes were moist.
"Monsieur, it shall be," he said, simply, turning to Burton.