“To you,” he said, grasping the sound arm of his orderly, “I confide her for one hour. Remember that you must die sooner than let any one approach her.”
The major then snatched up the countess’s diamonds, held them in one hand, drew his sabre with the other, and began to strike with the flat of its blade such of the sleepers as he thought the most intrepid. He succeeded in awaking the colossal grenadier, and two other men whose rank it was impossible to tell.
“We are done for!” he said.
“I know it,” said the grenadier, “but I don’t care.”
“Well, death for death, wouldn’t you rather sell your life for a pretty woman, and take your chances of seeing France?”
“I’d rather sleep,” said a man, rolling over on the snow, “and if you trouble me again, I’ll stick my bayonet into your stomach.”
“What is the business, my colonel?” said the grenadier. “That man is drunk; he’s a Parisian; he likes his ease.”
“That is yours, my brave grenadier,” cried the major, offering him a string of diamonds, “if you will follow me and fight like a madman. The Russians are ten minutes’ march from here; they have horses; we are going up to their first battery for a pair.”
“But the sentinels?”
“One of us three—” he interrupted himself, and turned to the aide-de-camp. “You will come, Hippolyte, won’t you?”