while I, after sponging his face with warm water, applied some salve to
the gash. But he kept muttering to himself, "This is a whole night
wasted; I must set out at daybreak."

"We are going to get you into bed, and dress the wound in your side,"
said my father cheerily. "I hope that at daybreak you will be sleeping
soundly."

"The cut is a bagatelle, monsieur, and I must to the road again. A
murrain on those rascally bandits!"

"At least you will be none the worse for an hour's rest," said my
father, humouring his fancy. "Edmond, get off his boots, and do it
gently: we must keep this wound from bleeding afresh."

Between us we removed his clothes, and in spite of his protests got him
into bed, when my father bathed and bandaged his side, saying, "It looks
worse than it really is. Now, a cup of hot broth, and you should sleep
comfortably."

"The broth will be welcome, monsieur, but I have no time for sleep. An
hour lost here may plunge thousands of good Frenchmen into mourning."

I thought at first the pain had turned his brain; but he spoke sensibly
enough, and appeared deeply in earnest.

"Can we help you?" my father asked. "It will be a week yet before you
are able to sit in the saddle. Do you know me?"

"Yes," said the other, and his face brightened, "you are the Sieur Le