But a flood of memories rushed over me: his unswording me in the dance; his attempt to steal mademoiselle at the picnic and to poison her mind against her friends; this second attempt, where it was through no fault of his that we were not all dead men and mademoiselle far on her way to Cape Girardeau, in the power of savages and a villain more to be dreaded than they. I put my hand behind me and said coldly:
"My hand belongs to my friends and to a foe whom I can honor. Monsieur, if you tarry longer, I will not be responsible for your life."
Even in the pale light I could see the deep flush sweep his cheek and his hand spring involuntarily to his sword-hilt. But he thought better of it, turned, and strode quickly away toward the low spot in the stone wall.
Then I had leisure to think of poor Leon. I knelt down beside him, where a dark pool was rapidly widening in the white snow. I could see where the red fountain gushed from a wound in his shoulder. It was possible no vital part had been touched and he might be saved could that gushing fountain of life-blood be stanched. As it was, his eyes were already glazing and his limbs stiffening and his breath coming in long-drawn sobs, like a man in extremity. He was like to breathe his last before even those hurrying feet, fast drawing near, should reach him. I knew enough of surgery to know that I must apply a tight bandage above the wound; but where should I find a bandage? My flimsy lace handkerchief was worse than useless. There was no help for it: the purple silken sword-sash, of which I was mightily proud, whose long fringed ends, tied in a graceful knot, fell almost to my knees, must be sacrificed. I hastily unknotted it, and tenderly as possible, that I might not hurt the poor fellow more than needs must (for his flesh quivered under my touch), I bound it round the shoulder and with all my strength drew it tight. Quickly the gushing fountain stayed, and then taking from my pocket a flask that my mother herself had always bid me carry, I forced a few drops into his fast-setting jaws. I knew I had done the right thing when, by the time they had all come up, Leon had lifted his head and was feebly licking my hand.
Their first exclamations of horror were followed by a hail of questions:
"Who has done this?" "Where is he?" "Did you see him?" "How did it happen?"
To all their questions I made but one answer:
"I heard the shot, and ran up to find Leon lying on the ground, dying as I believed, and I have done what I could to help him."
"And you have saved his life, or, at least, if he lives, he will have only you to thank," said Dr. Saugrain, who had been on his knees beside Leon, examining him.
"You and your silken sash," he added, with the old twinkle of his eye. "'Twas a noble sacrifice, and we all appreciate how great a one."