Part 46 (1/2)

”Who is there?”

”A wounded officer,” Ralph said.

There was a whispered talk, inside.

”Let me in, my friends,” he said, ”for the remembrance of your boys in Paris. There is no danger to you in doing so as, if the Germans come, you have only to say you have a wounded officer. I can pay you well.”

”We don't care for pay,” the woman of the house said; opening the door, with a candle in her hand--and then falling back, with a cry of horror, at the object before her: a man, tottering with fatigue, and with his face a perfect mask of stiffened blood.

”You do not remember me,” Ralph said. ”I am the captain of the staff who chatted to you, two days ago, about your boys in Paris.”

”Poor boy!” the woman said, compa.s.sionately. ”Come in.

”Monsieur will pardon me,” she went on, apologetically, ”for speaking so, but I called you the boy captain, when I was telling my good man what a bright--

”But there, what you want now is rest, and food. The question is where to put you. We may be searched, at any time; though it's not likely that we shall be, for a few days. The battle has gone away in the direction of Orleans, and we have not seen half a dozen men since I saw you, two days ago.

”The first thing is to give you something warm. You are half frozen. Sit down for a few minutes. I will soon make a blaze.”

Ralph sank down--utterly exhausted and worn out--in the settle by the fireplace; and fell into a half doze, while the woman lit a bright fire on the hearth. In a few minutes she had drawn some liquor from the pot-au-feu--the soup pot--which stands by the fireside of every French peasant, however poor; and into which all the odds and ends of the household are thrown. This liquor she put into a smaller pot; broke some bread into it, added an onion--which she chopped up while it was warming--together with a little pepper and salt and, in ten minutes from the time of Ralph's entry, she placed a bowl of this mixture, smoking hot, before him.

At first, he seemed too exhausted to eat; but gradually his appet.i.te returned, and he finished off the hot broth.

”What shall I do to your wound, sir?” the woman said. ”It is a terrible sight, at present.”

”It is the cold which saved my life, I fancy,” Ralph said, ”by stopping the bleeding; but now it wants bathing in warm water, for some time, and then bandaging.

”But where are you going to put me?”

”In the boys' room, upstairs, sir. It is just as they left it.”

”I have no doubt it is very comfortable,” Ralph said, ”but all this country is certain to be scoured, by the enemy's cavalry. I do not want to be taken prisoner; and rather than that I would go and live out in the woods, and only crawl here, once a day, for some food.”

The husband had now come downstairs and, as he aided his wife to first bathe and then bandage the wound, they talked over the matter; and agreed that Ralph could be hid in a loft over a shed, a hundred yards from the house, and very much concealed in the woods, without much fear of discovery. The farmer at once started to make the place as comfortable as he could; and the wife followed with a couple of blankets, a quarter of an hour later.

Ralph, by this time, could scarcely crawl along. The fever consequent upon the wound, the fatigue, and the cold made his head throb so terribly that he could scarcely hold it up and, had it not been for the a.s.sistance of the farmer's wife, he could not have crawled across the short distance to the shed. The loft was low and small and, when the wooden shutter of the window--or rather opening, for it was unglazed--was closed, it was lighted only by the light which came in at the crevices. The shed was altogether of wood; so that the shutter--which happened to be at its back--would scarcely have been noticed while, from the shed being high and the loft very low, anyone inside would scarcely have suspected the existence of any loft, at all. It was reached by a ladder and trap door.

The farmer a.s.sisted Ralph up the ladder. The shutter was open, and Ralph saw that the farmer had made a bed of straw, upon which his wife was spreading one of the blankets. Ralph now took off his uniform, and lay down; and was covered first by the other blanket, and then with his own fur-lined coat. The farmer's wife had thoughtfully brought a pillow with her; and Ralph in a few minutes was lying in what--had it not been for the pain of his wound--would have been intense comfort, after the cold and fatigue. His hostess went away, and returned with a large jug of water and a gla.s.s, which she put down within reach of his arm.

”There is nothing else you want?” she asked.

”Nothing, thank you, except to sleep,” Ralph said.

”I shall shut this shutter,” the farmer said. ”Enough light will come through the cracks to see well, when your eyes get accustomed to the darkness. I shall shut the trap close down after me, as I go, and lift down the ladder. It is very light, and my wife can easily put it into its place again. We will come and see you again, in the afternoon. Goodbye.”

”Goodbye,” Ralph answered, faintly; and before the sound of their footsteps had died away, he fell into a sort of feverish doze.

For a time he turned uneasily, muttered incoherent words, and moved his hands restlessly. Soon, however, the effects of the cloth soaked in icy-cold water, which the farmer's wife had placed on the bandages over the wound, began to subdue the feverish heat; and in half an hour he was sleeping soundly, and quietly. He woke at last, with a flash of light in his face and, opening his eyes, saw the good woman again bending over him.

”I am glad,” were her first words. ”I thought, for a moment, you were dead.”