with excitement; and he encouraged him, he spoke to him, as though the boy could hear him; he measured constantly, with a flashing eye, the space intervening between the fleeing figure and that gleam of arms which he could see in the distance amid the fields of grain gilded by the sun. And meanwhile he heard the whistle and the crash of the bullets in the rooms beneath, the imperious and angry shouts of the sergeants and the officers, the piercing groans of the wounded, the ruin of furniture, and the fall of rubbish.
“On! courage!” he shouted, following the far-off drummer with a glance. “Forward! run! He halts, that cursed boy! Ah, he resumes his course!”
An officer came panting to tell him that the enemy, without slackening their fire, were flinging out a white flag to hint at a surrender. “Don't reply to them!” he cried, without taking his eyes from the boy, who was already on the plain, but who was no longer running, and who seemed to be dragging himself along with difficulty.
“Go! run!” said the captain, clenching his teeth and his fists; “let them kill you; die, you rascal, but go!” Then he uttered a horrible oath. “Ah, the infamous poltroon! he has sat down!” In fact, the boy, whose head he had hitherto been able to see above a field of grain, had disappeared, as though he had fallen; but, after the lapse of a minute, it came into sight again; finally, it was lost behind the hedges, and the captain saw it no more.
Then the captain came down resolutely; the bullets
