CHAPTER XXX.
THE FORBIDDEN FRUIT.
A sense of the risk I encountered by absence from my quarters, in a strange country, and while having with me the order-book of my company, a volume which contained so many details relating to our embarkation for Martinique and our mode of landing there, recurred to me so vividly, that after hastily taking a glass or two of wine, on a lull in the booming of the thunder, I arose, and lifting the Venetian blinds gazed upon the night, which was dark—fearfully so, even for the tropics.
"Madame," said I, with hesitation, lest I might appear ungracious to one so charming in person, and so winning in manner, "I beseech you to excuse me; but—but you spoke a moment since, of the gratitude you owed me for the trifling service—"
"Mon Dieu! he calls my life a trifle—and saving it, a trivial service!" she exclaimed.
"Pardon me, but if missed from the garrison, you know not the penalty I incur, in times of war," I urged with great earnestness.
"Nay but I do, for I know more of soldiering than I ever care to see again."
"Then, madame, if one of your servants, or a trusty negro, would be my guide to Needham's Point——"
She patted my cheek with her large fan, and bending her bright dark eyes into mine, with a glance at once merry and tender, said,—
"Compose yourself; a storm is coming on, and you cannot go."
"I must, lady," I continued, impelled by the force and habit of discipline; "without leave, what else can I do?"