"Is it the work of a celebrated artist?"
"No; it is the work of our clerical host."
The lady shook her head; she was uncertain whether Count Vavel was making sport of her or of the pastor.
But she understood him when she entered the church. The house consecrated to the service of God had become a hospital, and was crowded with wounded French soldiers. The women of the village, as volunteer nurses, were taking care of them, and performed the task as faithfully as if the invalids were their own sons and brothers. The pastor himself supplied the necessary medicines from his own cupboard; for no army surgeon came here at a time when twenty thousand wounded Frenchmen lay at Aspern, and twenty-two thousand at Wagram.
"Is it not an affecting tableau, madame?" said Count Vavel. "It would be a suitable altar-piece for Notre Dame—and the name of its creator deserves perpetuation!"
CHAPTER III
Monsieur le Capitaine Descourcelles rode an excellent horse, was a capital rider, and was plainly very much in love. These three circumstances combined brought back the gallant soldier from Raab by five o'clock in the afternoon.
The captain of the cuirassiers was not a little surprised to find the general's wife playing cards with the hostile leader.
"General Guillaume agrees to everything," he announced immediately, on entering the room. "He will release the ladies he has been holding as prisoners."