It was she indeed—she whom I had rescued, and who gave me the emerald ring by the wayside well; but she was now so richly attired, and had her fine hair so perfectly dressed, that I did not at first, and in such a terrible crisis, recognise her.
"Parbleu, 'tis very well. Fall back, comrades, sheath your sabres, and finish your luncheon, for we march at sunset," said the captain, twisting his short moustache; "but what am I to understand by all this, mademoiselle?"
"That he saved my life—my honour—scarcely four-and-twenty hours ago," said she, emphatically.
"Sacré! he nearly took both my life and honour this morning," said the chevalier, with a grimace.
"And he is wounded—severely, too—the poor fellow!" she added, in a voice of tender commiseration.
"What! is this the soldier of whom you were just speaking—he who saved you from that rascal Hautois, on the night St. Solidore was cannonaded and destroyed?" asked the hussar, with surprise.
"The same, Monsieur de Boisguiller, and I demand that here, on my own threshold, his life shall be respected."
"So be it, mademoiselle; for your sake, I would spare the lives of the whole British army, if such were your wish—assuredly it should not be mine," said the captain, bowing low, with a tender glance in his eye.
"I thank you, M. le Chevalier," replied the lady, laughing.
"And I congratulate you, M. le soldat, on having such an intercessor," said the Frenchman, making a merit of necessity, and with somewhat of apparent frankness presenting his hand to me.