And to the mud-splashed aide-de-camp who stood waiting, looking out of the window at the gunboat which was now churning in toward the wharf, billows of inky smoke pouring from the discolored stacks:
“Please tell the general that I go aboard in half an hour. Tell him I’ll do my best.” In a lower voice: “Ask him not to forget my brother—if matters go wrong with me. He has given me his word.... And I think that is all, thank you.”
The A.-D.-C. said, standing straight, hollow-backed, spurred heels together:
“Orders are verbally modified, madam.”
“What?”
“If you do not care to go—it is not an order—merely a matter of volunteering.... The general makes no question of your courage if you choose to decline.”
She said, looking at the officer a little wearily:
“Thank the general. It will give me much pleasure to fulfill his request. Ask him to bear my brother in mind; that is all.”
The A.-D.-C. bowed to her, cap in hand, then went out, making considerable racket with sabre and boots.
Half an hour later a long, deep, warning blast from the gunboat’s whistle set the echoes flying through the hills.