A loosely tied scarf round my arm showed that some
one had lately left me, and would return to finish the bandaging. I
raised myself with difficulty, and saw a basin of water, a sponge,
bits of cloth, and a pocket-knife. Stupid and dazed though I was,
the instinct of self-preservation lived, and I picked up the knife
and hid it in my coat. I did it, I believe, mechanically, for a
hundred things were going through my mind at the time.
All at once there rushed in on me the thought of Juste Duvarney as
I saw him last--how long ago was it?--his white face turned to the
sky, his arms stretched out, his body dabbled in blood. I groaned
aloud. Fool, fool! to be trapped by these lying French! To be
tricked into playing their shameless games for them, to have a
broken body, to have killed the brother of the mistress of my heart,
and so cut myself off from her and ruined my life for nothing--for
worse than nothing! I had swaggered, boasted, had taken a challenge
for a bout and a quarrel like any hanger-on of a tavern.
Suddenly I heard footsteps and voices outside; then one voice,
louder than the other, saying, "He hasn't stirred a peg--lies like
a log!" It was Gabord.
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