The University of Michigan Library provides access to these materials for educational and research purposes. These materials are in the public domain in the United States. If you have questions about the collection please contact Digital Content & Collections at dlps-help@umich.edu, or if you have concerns about the inclusion of an item in this collection, please contact Library Information Technology at LibraryIT-info@umich.edu.
DPLA Rights Statement: No Copyright - United States
A sergeant and two men to follow me!
Where should I be, monsieur?
You speak French?
Caramba! since you speak Spanish.
It was out of politeness. But talk your own jargon—it is a language that turns to honey on the tongue of a pretty woman.
It is my grandmother, señor; she is paralyzed.
So? You could not carry her off, and you remained?
Precisely.
That was like a brave girl.
Did they wish to be massacred?
And you?
It would be too much glory for a hundred and eighty French soldiers to kill one poor peasant girl. And then to come so far!
She knows our very numbers, the fox! How she shows her teeth!
Besides, señor, one can die but once.
That is often enough. —Why did your people waste the bread and wine?
That yours might neither eat the one nor drink the other. We do not store food for our enemies.
They could not take away the provisions, so they destroyed them?
Nothing escapes you!
Is that your child?
Yes, the hija is mine.
Where is your husband —with the brigands yonder?
My husband?
Your lover, then.
I have no lover. My husband is dead.
I think you are lying now. He's a guerrilla.
If he were I should not deny it. What Spanish
woman would rest her cheek upon the bosom that has not a carabine pressed against it this day? It were better to be a soldier's widow than a coward's wife.
The little demon! But she is ravishing! She would have upset St. Anthony, this one—if he had belonged to the Second Chasseurs! What is to be done? Theoretically, I am to pass my sword through her body; practically, I shall make love to her in ten minutes more, though her readiness to become a widow is not altogether pleasing!
Voilà, lieutenant!
Where did you get that?
In a cellar hard by, hidden under some rushes.
There are five more skins of wine like this jolly fellow in his leather jacket. Pray order a division of the booty, my lieutenant, for we are as dry as herrings in a box.
A moment, my braves.
The vintage was poor this year, señor.
I mean—is that wine good for a Frenchman to drink?
Why not, señor?
Yes or no?
Yes.
Why was it not served like the rest, then?
They hid a few skins, thinking to come back for it when you were gone. An ill thing does not last forever.
Open it, some one, and fetch me a glass.
When I am thirsty I drink.
Pardieu! this time you shall drink because I am thirsty.
As you will.
That was an impudent toast. I would have preferred the Emperor or even Godoy; but no matter— each after his kind. To whom will the small-bones drink?
The child, señor?
Yes, the child; she is pale and sickly-looking; a draught will do her no harm. All the same she will grow up and make some man wretched.
But señor....
Do you hear?
But Chiquita, señor—she is so little, only thirteen months old, and the wine is strong!
She shall drink.
No, no!
I have said it, sacré nom—
Give it me, then.
Woman! your hand trembles.
Nay, it is Chiquita swallows so fast. See! she has taken it all. Ah, señor, it is a sad thing to have no milk for the little one. Are you content?
Yes; I now see that the men may quench their thirst without fear. One cannot be too cautious in this hospitable country! Fall to, my children; but first a glass for your lieutenant.
Ay, ay, the young forget the old... forget the old.
Why, the depraved old sorceress! But she has reason. She should have her share. Place aux dames! A cup, somebody, for Madame la Diablesse!
José-Maria!
The child! look at the child! What is the matter with it? It turns livid—it is dying! Comrades, we are poisoned!
Yes, you are poisoned! Al fuego— al fuego— todos al fuego! 1 1.1 You to perdition, we to heaven!
Quick, some of you, go warn the others!
Strike here, señor....
Mercedes!
Louvois, we are dead men! Beware of her, she is a fiend! Kill her without a word! The drink already throttles me—I—I cannot breathe here.
To the flames— to the flames—all of you to the flames!