When he entered the apartment, he appeared excited and out of temper, muttering to himself as he approached the fire, and then, turning short round, he drew himself up haughtily between the manacled guerillas and myself.
“So,” he said, sarcastically, “Captain St. Pierre, methinks, to-night you have had but indifferent success. Five soldiers lost, the great brigand escaped, and these paltry scoundrels, fit only for hanging in terrorem at a market-place, the sole fruits of a bloody, and, as it has turned out, a bootless expedition! How could this possibly occur?—a squadron of chasseurs, checked, defeated, by some half dozen—call them not soldiers—but banditti! Ay, Captain St. Pierre, defeated! Has not the only captive we aimed at escaped ye? Except as examples to the peasantry, these fellows are not worth the snapping of a flint—or value of a halter. Is not this failure—defeat?”
“Colonel La Coste,” returned the captain of chasseurs, “much of what you say is true. We counted with too great confidence upon surprise, and overlooked the danger that lies in desperation. It has, indeed, turned out a sorry promenade—little gained, and much, unfortunately, lost!”
“Where did the brigands escape to?—where did they seek shelter?—why were they not pursued?” continued Colonel La Coste, speaking with breathless rapidity.
“The Empecinado, with one companion, have fairly got away,” replied Captain St. Pierre; “the other three are in your presence.”
“The other three!” exclaimed Colonel La Coste, contemptuously—“Bah!—what matters the capture of these small scoundrels, when the greater bandits have escaped? have they indeed got off? and how, in the devil’s name, did they effect it?”
“I would half believe, through the especial assistance of the black gentleman. To steel and lead they seemed impervious, or they never could have been proof against one hundred shots and sword-cuts. By Heaven! their escape appears miraculous! They gained the river, plunged into the swollen stream, and under a biting fire, while bullet after bullet struck the water before and behind, they reached the opposite bank unhurt, scrambled up the bank, and were instantly lost in the thick cover of yonder cork-wood.”
“Were they not followed, hunted, pursued? Is Henri after them?” inquired the colonel, with impatience; but the question was unanswered. “Speak, St. Pierre!—where is my nephew?—close on the brigands’ footsteps?”
The captain shook his head.
“What mean ye?” exclaimed the old republican; “Is he hurt, or wounded?”