“Is he invalided too?” inquired Caron, without heeding the soldier's offensiveness of manner.
“He was severely wounded at Jemappes,” was the answer.
“At Jemappes? But, voyons my friend, Jemappes was fought three months ago.”
“Why, so all the world knows. What then? The General sent Captain Charlot here to rest and be cured, giving him charge of the invalided soldiers who came with him and of others who were already here.”
“And of these,” cried La Boulaye, his amazement growing, “have none returned to Dumouriez?”
“Have I not said that we are invalids?”
Caron eyed him with cold contempt.
“How many of you are there?” he asked. And for all that the man began to mislike this questioning, he had not the hardihood to refuse an answer to the stern tones of that stern man on horseback.
“Some fifty, or thereabouts.”
La Boulaye said nothing for a moment, then touching the fellow's sleeve with his whip.