4. A Story of Brigands

“Three times the cold iron pierced her flesh; her blood fell like dew. But she did not stir, she was self-possessed, she did not utter a sound, not even an ‘Oh.’”

“Your story is heartrending, Maroussia. Ah! the unfortunate woman!”

Maroussia, interested in her story, continued: “Her husband’s lieutenant, seeing that all was useless, said to his captain in a rough tone of voice:

“‘The time lost by us in this place is clear gain for her whom we seek. The village is very near. The city is not far. If we stay here a quarter of an hour longer, your wife will reach there before we do, Captain. Perhaps she is there now.’

“At the thought that his wife, evidently mistress of his secret, could escape from him, and that his manner of life should be known, a curse burst from his lips.

“‘To horse!’ he cried, ‘to horse, and at full speed.’

“They spurred their horses and started like shots from a cannon. It was time. The poor woman could no longer support herself, she let herself fall at the risk of being killed.” Maroussia, just then, stepped backward.

“Did you hear it?” she asked.

“It was a shot,” answered the Envoy, “it is the third since we have been walking. But don’t let that trouble you, it is before us and far enough away. In times like these, guns go off alone everywhere. It is not toward us, nor in the direction of your father’s house, that they are shooting.”

“Are you sure?” she asked.

“Very sure. If you hear shots again, don’t pay any attention to them. You must become accustomed to these noises; now return to your story.”

“The poor woman was on the ground. I do not know how many hours she remained there unconscious,” said Maroussia. “When she came to herself the night was no longer so dark, a corner of the sky was already red. The birds were beginning to awake, and the grass wet with dew seemed strewn with white pearls. She still had strength enough to stop the flow of blood from her wounds. She tore her fine skirt in strips to make bandages for herself. Could she walk? She had lost much blood.

“But she must and she did walk. She went slowly, her arms and side had been cut by the thrusts of the lance: little by little the exercise of itself strengthened her.”

“I like this courageous woman,” said the Envoy.