A boy with blue eyes set wide apart, hair clinging brightly and moistly to his pallid forehead, and mouth corners turning up in a courageous smile, entered and stood erect before the officer. He was a well made little fellow. His tiny buckskin hunting shirt was draped with a sash in the Indian fashion, showing the curve of his naked hip. Down this a narrow line of blood was moving. Children of refugees, full of pity, looked through the open door behind him.
"Go to him, Shipp," said Croghan, as the boy staggered. But he waved the ensign back.
"Who are you, my man?" asked the Major.
"I believe," he answered, "I am the Marquis de Ferrier."
IV
He pitched forward, and I was quicker than Ensign Shipp. I set him on my knees, and the surgeon poured a little watered brandy clown his throat.
"Paul!" I said to him.
"Stand back," ordered the surgeon, as women followed their children, crowding the room.
"Do you know him, Lazarre?" asked Croghan.