I had reined up the mare and was looking at him with some disgust, for it seemed strange to me that one who wore so gorgeous a uniform should show himself in such a state in broad daylight. For his part, he looked hard in my direction and came slowly onwards, stopping from time to time and swaying about as he gazed at me. Suddenly, as I again advanced, he screamed out his thanks to Christ, and, lurching forwards, he fell with a crash upon the dusty road. His hands flew forward with the fall, and I saw that what I had taken for a red cloth was a monstrous wound, which had left a great gap in his neck, from which a dark blood-clot hung, like an epaulette upon his shoulder.
"My God!" I cried, as I sprang to his aid. "And I thought that you were drunk!"
"Not drunk, but dying," said he. "But thank Heaven that I have seen a French officer while I have still strength to speak."
I laid him among the heather and poured some brandy down his throat. All round us was the vast countryside, green and peaceful, with nothing living in sight save only the mutilated man beside me.
"Who has done this?" I asked, "and what are you? You are French, and yet the uniform is strange to me."
"It is that of the Emperor's new guard of honour. I am the Marquis of Château St.
