“General, when the doctor of the body can do no more, and science is exhausted, a Christian has recourse to another Physician.”
“You are quite right, my child,” replied the good general gravely; “and I have no time to lose, for I feel my life is ebbing away every moment.”
He made a sign to one of his aides-de-camp, and whispered his instructions to him, which the latter hastened to obey. He returned in a few minutes with a young Capuchin, who was the chaplain of the corps. The officers left the tent, and I was about to do the same when a sudden thought struck me.
“One word more, general. I want three days to make my arrangements and get my kit ready.”
“Take them, my son; but do not be away longer, for when you return I shall be no more here.”
“Not here, perhaps, but in a better world,” I exclaimed. “God bless you, general! I cannot replace you, but I may perhaps be able to show your troops how those should fight and die who have had General B—— for their leader!”
“Thanks, my child, and may God bless you! Adieu!”
I pressed the hand which the dying man held out to me with respectful tenderness; and then, hurrying from the tent to hide my emotion, I obtained a “safe-conduct” passport, and, remounting my horse, stopped at the best inn I could find in the next village, and wrote a few lines to Countess L——, not to tell her of the extraordinary position in which I had been placed or the fearful events of the past night, but to reassure her, and bid her to hold herself in readiness for a speedy departure, as an escort had been promised for her. Thence I rode as fast as I could to the convent of the Bernardines at Kielce, and asked to see Father Benvenuto immediately—that eloquent preacher and holy confessor who had lingered for twenty years in a Siberian dungeon. He was my confessor, and at this moment of all others in my life I needed his advice and guidance. Fortunately for me, he was at home, and I instantly told him all that had happened, and of the almost compulsory promise which had been extorted from me by the brave and dying general. The good old father listened in silence, and then said:
“My child, what you have done is heroic and great; but if you were to return to the camp, and had to bear alone this terrible secret, it would crush you with its weight.”
“But, good God! what can I do?” I exclaimed. “Must I give it up and forfeit my word?”