The body of a man rolled inside.
They stopped and examined him; the uniform was theirs. The face
they looked into was that of the handsome young foreigner who,
that day, had gone forth from the city, a gay and gallant figure,
who sat his horse so well that he earned their admiration. What
could this mean? And where were the others? Had there been a
desperate battle?
"Run back to the guard room, one of you, and fetch some brandy.
He lives." And Lieutenant Scharfenstein took his hand from the
insensible man's heart. Pulsation was there, but weak and
intermittent. "Sergeant, take ten men and clear the square. If
they refuse to leave, kill! Madame is not yet queen by any means."
The men scattered. One soon returned with the brandy.
Scharfenstein moistened the wounded man's lips and placed his
palm under the nose. Shortly Maurice opened his eyes, his half-
delirious eyes.
"To the palace!" he said, "to the palace--Ah!" He saw the faces
staring down at him. He struggled. Instinctively they all stood
back. What seemed incredible to them, he got to his knees, from
his knees to his feet, and propped himself against a gate post.
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