The Son of Monte-Cristo The Son Of Monte Cristo Part 8

"And you are right. I beg your pardon for keeping you waiting. I was just telling the children about a battle of the Republic at Valmy."

"Take my arm, sir," cried one of the woodcutters. "That wooden leg of yours is not very safe on the ice."

"Am I not here?" asked Jacques, in a vexed voice, "can I not look out for my father?"

Simon laughed.

"But why," he asked, "have you not asked for wine at the inn?"

"Because we heard that the little girl was ill, sir--"

"Oh! it is nothing of any consequence--there she is, as rosy and smiling as ever."

When Simon's voice was heard, the inn awoke from its silence. A woman appeared on the threshold holding in her arms a pretty little creature about six years old.

The mother was a simple peasant woman, wearing a peasant's dress. She began to fill gla.s.ses for these woodcutters, who addressed her with a cordial good morning.

At this moment the door was hastily opened, and a man appeared on the threshold. The woodcutters uttered a cry of surprise. The man was a soldier, who leaned against the wall and did not speak.

Simon hurried forward. "You are welcome, comrade," he exclaimed.

The man turned pale, and but for Simon's support, he would have fallen on the floor.

"Francoise, a chair!" cried the innkeeper.

The soldier had his head wrapped in a blue handkerchief, and drops of blood were upon his cheek. His uniform was in rags, and a linen bandage was wrapped around one leg.

The men looked on with terrified respect while Simon tried to make him drink a gla.s.s of wine, and signed to Jacques to take off the soldier's shoes, now covered with snow.

The soldier uttered a deep sigh of relief. He was a peasant of about forty, although his moustache was gray. His features bore the traces of suffering and privations.

"Some brandy!" he gasped.

Little Francinette carried the gla.s.s to him. He drank it, looking the while at the child with admiration and sad envy. Then taking her on his knee, he looked around him at the honest faces, and said:

"My name is Michel--Michel Charmoze. There are thirty of us down on the road, all wounded, in a big wagon. The horses have fallen, one is dead, and we have come for help."

The woodcutters looked from one to the other in amazement.

"What!" cried the soldier, "do you know nothing in this land of snow? I have been fighting three months on the Rhine. The Emperor has deserted us. All is over!"

The peasants listened in a stupefied sort of way. Only the vaguest rumors had as yet reached the peasants that Napoleon's star had begun to pale. Simon knew it, but he had held his peace.

"Where are the wounded?" he asked, quietly.

"A quarter of a league down the road."

"My friends," said Simon, "we have no horses, but your arms are strong.

You must save these Frenchmen!"

"We are ready!" shouted twenty voices.

"Father, may I go, too?" asked Jacques, eagerly.

"Yes," said Simon, kindly. "You may go, and take some brandy with you."

The woodcutters took also shovels, sticks and ropes.

"When they come back," said Simon to his wife, "you must have a good meal ready. Carry straw into the school-room, tear up your old sheets into bandages, and send to Wisembach for the doctor."

"But the child--what am I to do with her?" asked Francoise, timidly.

"Oh! I will look out for her," cried the soldier. "I had a little girl of my own, but since I have been away, both mother and child have died!"

Simon and Michel were alone for a few moments. The little girl still sat on the soldier's knee, gravely enlarging one of the holes in his uniform with her busy little fingers.

"Then the invaders are in France?" said Simon.

"They are, indeed, but they won't stay long--be sure of that!"

"What army is it that is advancing in this direction?" asked Simon.

"Schwartzemberg's, with Russians, Prussians and Austrians."

"How far off are they?"

"Not more than ten leagues. We were nearly overtaken by them. They would not have got thus far had we not been betrayed by everybody. Those dogs of Royalists have felt no shame to be seen with these enemies of France!"

Simon started.

"Do you mean," he asked sternly, "that the emigres have dared----"

"Yes, they have dared to do just that!" and Michel swore a frightful oath. "I believe that there are Frenchmen who would lead these savages on, to roast and kill their own mothers!"

Simon had become deadly pale.

"Yes," continued the soldier. "Let me tell you about this wound." And he tore off the handkerchief around his head. His eyes at that moment fell on Simon's wooden leg, which he had not before seen. "Ah! you are one of us, then?" exclaimed Michel.

Simon nodded. "Go on with your story, my friend," he said.

"Well, we had just crossed the Rhine, and were getting on famously when we saw the detachment that had attacked us. I knew by their caps that they were Russians. We sheltered ourselves behind a wall, and then we let fly. I tell you, that was a fight! In front of me was a tall fellow who fought like the very devil. I p.r.i.c.ked him with a bayonet, and he opened his arms wide and yelled--good Lord! I hear that yell now--'I am killed! Here! help for Talizac!' He shot at me the same moment. Now, friend, was not that a French name? But what is the matter with you?"

Simon had dropped into a chair. He was as white as a sheet, and his eyes were fixed on vacancy.

The soldier looked at him for a moment. "Come!" he said, "give me another gla.s.s, and we will drink to our country!"

At this moment Francoise came in hurriedly.

"Simon!" she cried, "the peasants are coming here from every direction.