soldiers crowded
in front of the shed; an officer elbowed his way in. In the midst was
the big naked body, soiled with blood. Some one had covered him with his
blanket; but as he lay there in agony, he had partly thrown it off.

"This is murder!" cried the officer. "You wild beasts, you will hear of
this to-morrow."

As Goguelat was raised and laid upon a stretcher, he cried to us a
cheerful and blasphemous farewell.

CHAPTER III

MAJOR CHEVENIX COMES INTO THE STORY AND GOGUELAT GOES OUT

There was never any talk of a recovery, and no time was lost in getting
the man's deposition. He gave but the one account of it: that he had
committed suicide because he was sick of seeing so many Englishmen. The
doctor vowed it was impossible, the nature and direction of the wound
forbidding it. Goguelat replied that he was more ingenious than the
other thought for, and had propped up the weapon in the ground and
fallen on the point--"just like Nebuchadnezzar," he added, winking to
the assistants. The doctor, who was a little, spruce, ruddy man of an
impatient temper, pished and pshawed and swore over his patient.
"Nothing could be made of him!" he cried. "A perfect heathen. If we
could only find the weapon!" But the weapon had ceased to exist. A
little resined twine was perhaps blowing about in the Castle gutters;
some bits of broken stick may have trailed in corners; and behold, in
the pleasant air of the morning, a dandy prisoner trimming his nails
with a pair of scissors!

Finding the wounded man so firm, you may be sure the authorities did not
leave the rest of us in peace. No stone was left unturned. We were had
in again and again to be examined, now singly, now in twos and threes.
We were threatened with all sorts of impossible severities and tempted
with all manner of improbable rewards. I suppose I was five times
interrogated, and came off from each with flying colours. I am like old
Souvaroff: I cannot understand a soldier being taken aback by any
question: he should answer, as he marches on the fire, with an instant
briskness and gaiety. I may have been short of bread, gold, or grace; I
was never found wanting in an answer. My comrades, if they were not all
so ready, were none of them less staunch; and I may say here at once
that the inquiry came to nothing at the time, and the death of Goguelat
remained a mystery of the prison. Such were the veterans of France! And
yet I should be disingenuous if I did not