Simon saw that the fellow was a gipsy, and that he had been wounded.
"Save me!" repeated the gipsy, "they will kill me!"
"Zounds! fellow," cried Michel, "who are you afraid of? I believe you are a spy!"
Simon motioned to Michel to be silent, and questioned the man who proceeded to say that he and his companions had been seized to act as guides through the forest.
"We refused," he said, "because you French had always been good to us. Then the soldiers killed one after the other of us as fast as we refused, and I ran away. They fired at me, and wounded me in the head. Oh! save me!"
Neither Simon nor Michel noticed the almost theatrical exaggeration of this fellow's gestures.
"The Cossacks are near?" asked Simon. "How many?"
"About five hundred."
"On this road?"
"Yes. Hark!"