“Le pére Jean, missionary.”
“Well, gentlemen, it cannot be helped. You must both follow us into the town.”
He gave his orders briefly, and blowing out the lanthorn, took Margaret by the arm, supporting her as one might a wounded man, and so we set off. It was evident the quick-witted sergeant possessed that invaluable qualification of the successful soldier, the readiness to carry out as well as to devise a plan; for in handling the lanthorn he had never once allowed the light to fall on Margaret, and by his happy pretence of her being wounded, he avoided the awkward necessity of handing over the command to her as his superior. That he would do his best to shelter her from any scrutiny or questioning was evident, and I was too thankful for the result to puzzle over the probable means by which it was attained. As like as not, by the very simple expedient of telling the truth—a wonderfully efficacious measure at times, when you know your man.
A quick, hard scramble brought us down to the level of the Palais; we passed the Intendance, black and deserted, and so on towards the foot of the Côte du Palais. When we reached the gate the sergeant halted us; the sign and countersign were given, whereupon the wicket was opened.
Passing his arm about Margaret, who leaned upon him heavily, the sergeant skilfully interposed himself between her and the officer in charge, and gave his report: “Neil Murray, sergeant, 78th, six men, two prisoners, and one of our own, wounded,” and on we marched up the slippery hill without a moment's unnecessary delay.
As soon as we were beyond sight of the gate our pace was slackened, and, now that all immediate danger of discovery for Margaret was at an end, I fell to wondering at the extraordinary chance which again brought me face to face with her who had proved the turning-point in my life. Little by little I pieced out the puzzle, and the more I brought it together, the more I wondered, but in a vague, disjointed fashion, that led to no solution. My confused thoughts were interrupted by our party halting in front of the Convent of the Ursulines, where, to my relief, I saw the sergeant lead Margaret round towards the side entrance.
“May I ask where you are taking us?” I said, when we again began our march, putting the question more to set my mind working again than out of curiosity.
“Where else would we be going but to the General?”
“And where has he found quarters in this stone heap? You have made a fine mess of things with your battering,” I said, for the evidence of their fire on the town was surprising.
“Have we not!” he exclaimed, with true soldierly pride. “But there will be a corner or two, here and there, that was out of our reach. It was a God's mercy for ourselves that we didn't have our will of the whole town, or there's many a poor fellow would have made a bad winter of it.”