One day we were playing the game of brigands and gendarmes. I was one of the gendarmes, who were invariably beaten.
Met-à-Mort had nominated himself captain of the brigands, and chose Georgette for his vivandière.
Presently, for a few minutes there was a suspension of hostilities. Brigands and gendarmes fraternized, as they quenched their thirst, and expatiated upon the joys of the fray. Suddenly Georgette, with her accustomed vivacity, broke in upon our little group. She bore in her hands a glass ink-bottle.
"See!" said her sweet voice. "Whoever will drink this ink shall, by-and-by, be my little husband!"
Met-à-Mort and the rest exploded with laughter.
When we resumed our game, I discovered that I had lost all interest in it. Georgette's words haunted me.
Cries of joy arose from our camp. The enemy's vivandière had been captured. I was told off to guard the prisoner; you may guess whether I was happy!
Georgette tried bribery.
"Oh! let me go! let me go! and I will give you ten pens."
Much I cared for her pens!
"Did you mean what you said just now, mademoiselle?" I timidly inquired.
"What?"
"That whoever would drink the ink should be your little husband?"
"Yes, stupid! But let me go———"
"Then it is true?"
"Of course it is. Let me go!"
She was growing impatient. For a moment I hesitated; then I said:—
"She was growing impatient."
"Run away quickly! nobody can see us."
She did not need telling twice. As swiftly as her feet could carry her, she ran off to the enemy's camp.
I was a double-dyed traitor. After conniving at my captive's escape I deserted.
"Can it indeed be true?" I pondered. "Have I only to drain that phial of ink in order to become Georgette's husband some day? She said so, and she must know!"
I went to look for the ink-bottle, which the child had carried back into the schoolroom. There I stood contemplating the black, uninviting-looking liquid.
Not for a single moment did I dream of swallowing the loathsome stuff in the girl's presence. It did not occur to me that she ought to be a witness of my sacrifice, or that she had demanded it as a proof of love. My idea was rather that the beverage was a sort of love-philtre, such as I had read of in my book of fairy tales. She had said: "Whoever will drink the ink shall be my husband."
Faugh! the bottle was full to overflowing. How nasty it looked! Never mind! So much the better! I should have liked it to have been nastier still.
I closed my eyes, and raised the bottle to my lips.
"What are you about, you dirty little thing?" exclaimed a voice from behind me, at the same instant that I received a smart blow upon my uplifted arm.
Covered with confusion, I turned, and beheld Mademoiselle Ermance, who had surprised me in my singular occupation.
"What is the meaning of this nonsense?" said she, with unwonted severity.
I had no time to explain. Just at that moment my schoolfellows came trooping in. Georgette seeing me standing there, ink-stained and disgraced, and already—the coquette!—forgetful of her promise, exclaimed, with a face of disgust:—
