"Where?—oh, I do so love to see soldiers!"
"'Tis a guard conveying prisoners to the Chateau de Trompette, and now they are about to cross the Garonne by boats."
The lady gazed from the window, and saw a mass of armed soldiers marching quickly down the opposite slope towards the river. As they issued from under the green vine trellis which shaded the roads for miles in every direction, she could distinctly discern the scarlet coats of the prisoners contrasting with the white of the French linesmen who formed the escort, and had their bayonets fixed.
"Red uniforms—they are British prisoners of war!" exclaimed Nanon; "oh, mademoiselle, we have gained a battle somewhere, and beaten the English, as we always do."
"Poor, poor fellows!" sighed Therese; "ah, Nanon, I feel sad when I see them, for M. le Baron says my mother was one of these people: yet it seems so strange that I should ever have had any other than Therese de St. Veran—dear Madame la Baronesse, whom the Blessed Virgin has taken to herself."
"See how they crowd into that little boat! Oh, mon Dieu! the brave reckless fellows—it will never hold them all!"
"And the stream is deep and rapid there."
"See—see, O Dieu! what has happened!" shrieked Nanon.
"Overturned—the boat has overturned."
"No—'tis a man overboard!—he is in the stream, and drowning!"