s; and when at last
he rose from his bed, and staggered out into the court, one sleeve of
his military coat hung limp and empty at his side. If Jean Moreau had
not given his life for Captain Henri, he had laid down in his service
what was almost as dear,--his good right arm. This was the story of
it. In a part of the field where the battle raged most fiercely,
Captain De Lorme's company, in which Jean was then enrolled, was
engaged. At one time they were right under the eye of the Emperor, and
fought with renewed ardor and courage.

The enemy was in great force here, and desperate charges were made on
both sides. Seeing the standard-bearer of his regiment fall, and the
banner in the hands of the enemy, Captain De Lorme dashed forward to
recover it. This he did, and was gallantly fighting his way back to
the French ranks, when he fell, pierced in the breast by a ball, and
bleeding from more than one bayonet-thrust. In an instant there stood
over him the tall, powerful form of the young blacksmith. Flinging
down his musket, and seizing the sword which the wounded officer had
dropped, he kept off all assailants, or cut them down with terrible
strokes of that keen and bloody weapon, flashing about him, here,
there, on every side, like red lightning. Lifting the fainting young
noble, together with the standard, and bearing them on his left arm,
Jean actually fought his way out of the enemy's ranks, step by step,
defending both his precious charges. He received several wounds, but
none that disabled him, till a musket-ball went crashing through the
bones of his right arm, and it dropped helpless at his side. When at
last he fell, and closed his brave eyes in a long, deep swoon, which he
believed the sleep of death, he was at the foot of a little eminence on
which Napoleon sat on his war-horse, surveying the terrible scene of
carnage,--the surging sea of battle that raged around him. Jean
wondered if the smoke of the cannon veiled from his calm eyes the agony
of dying men, and if their groans came to his ears between the volleys
of musketry, in the pauses of stormy battle music.

As soon as Jean was able to leave his ward, he was permitted to visit
his captain, who, however, was still very low from a fever induced by
his wounds. For the most time he was unconscious or delirious, and
recognized no one. The old Count was with him, but evidently knew not
who had saved the life that flickered faintly in the breast o