"For nearly a month have you lain unconscious upon that bed, with the angel
of Death at your pillow. You have fought and won a silent battle. Now
sleep, Monsieur, and ask no more questions until next you awaken, when
Michelot shall tell you all that took place."
She held a glass to my lips from which I drank gratefully, then, with the
submissiveness of a babe, I obeyed her and slept.
As she had promised, it was Michelot who greeted me when next I opened my
eyes, on the following day. There were tears in his eyes--eyes that had
looked grim and unmoved upon the horrors of the battlefield.
From him I learned how, after they had flung me into the river, deeming me
dead already, St. Auban and his men had made off. The swift stream swirled
me along towards the spot where, in the boat, Michelot awaited my return
all unconscious of what was taking place. He had heard the splash, and had
suddenly stood up, on the point of going ashore, when my body rose within a
few feet of him. He spoke of the agony of mind wherewith he had suddenly
stretched forth and clutched me by my doublet, fearing that I was indeed
dead.
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