him at the very time he is most in need of them! It's too bad, too
bad, by my soul it is! Go on, you, and put yourself in safety!"

But Maurice laughed quietly as he answered:

"That is silly talk!"

He took his friend's arm and helped him along, for neither of them had
any desire to linger there. When, laboriously and by dint of heroic
effort, they had advanced some half-dozen paces further, they halted
again with renewed alarm at beholding before them a house, standing at
the margin of the wood, apparently a sort of farmhouse. Not a light was
visible at any of the windows, the open courtyard gate yawned upon the
dark and deserted dwelling. And when they plucked up their courage a
little and ventured to enter the courtyard, great was their surprise to
find a horse standing there with a saddle on his back, with nothing to
indicate the why or wherefore of his being there. Perhaps it was the
owner's intention to return, perhaps he was lying behind a bush with a
bullet in his brain. They never learned how it was.

But Maurice had conceived a new scheme, which appeared to afford him
great satisfaction.

"See here, the frontier is too far away; we should never succeed in
reaching it without a guide. What do you say to changing our plan and
going to Uncle Fouchard's, at Remilly? I am so well acquainted with
every inch of the road that I'm sure I could take you there with my eyes
bandaged. Don't you think it's a good idea, eh? I'll put you on this
horse, and I suppose Uncle Fouchard will grumble, but he'll take us in."

Before starting he wished to take a look at the injured leg. There were
two orifices; the ball appeared to have entered the limb and passed
out, fracturing the tibia in its course. The flow of blood had not
been great; he did nothing more than bandage the upper part of the calf
tightly with his handkerchief.

"Do you fly, and leave me here," Jean said again.

"Hold your tongue; you are silly!"

When Jean was seated firmly in the saddle Maurice took the bridle and
they made a start. It was somewhere about eleven o'clock, and he hoped
to make the journey in three hours, even if they should be unable to
proceed faster than a walk. A difficulty that he had not thought of
until then, however, presented itself to his mind and for a moment
filled him with consternation: how were they to cross the Meuse in
order to get to the left bank? The bridge at Mouzon would certainly be
guarded. At last he remembered th