La Boulaye looked surprised. Then his eyes strayed to the others on the green.
“But you are not all invalids?” he questioned.
“Many of us are convalescent.”
“Convalescent? But those three braves yonder are something more than convalescent. They are as well as I am. Why do they not rejoin the troops?”
The fellow looked up with a scowl.
“We take our orders from our officer,” he answered sourly.
“Ah!” quoth the Deputy. “There is someone in charge here, then? Who may it be?”
“Captain Charlot,” the fellow answered, with an impudent air, which clearly seemed to ask: “What have you to say to that?”
“Captain Charlot?” echoed La Boulaye, in astonishment, for the name was that of the sometime peasant of Bellecour, who had since risen in life, and who, as an officer, had in a few months acquired a brilliant fame for deeds of daring. “Charlot Tardivet?” he inquired.
“Is there any other Captain Charlot in the army of the Republic?” the fellow asked insolently.