g their meal.

"Well, Denis, boy," he cried, "how is it now?"

"Oh, a bit sick and faint, but I'm better. Have you found that brute?"

"No; he has gone right away. But we don't want him, unless he comes
back to take revenge on you, and then I should like to see you use your
sword again."

"Oh!" groaned Denis. "With an arm like this! I feel as if I should not
lift it again for months."

"Bah! Nonsense, man--boy, I mean," said Saint Simon, with a laugh.
"But I say, you must have given it to him somewhere. He was bleeding
like a pig. I followed his track to where he must have sat down on the
grass to bind up his wound. And there he stopped it, to rise and walk
off, making good strides for a dead man. You gave him his pay for
horse-stealing, and I'll be bound to say he feels more sore than you, my
hero. Now then, how do you feel about getting up?"

"I feel sick, and as if I want to lie."

"But the--ahem!--Comte? He must be awake by now."

"Ah! I forgot him. Here, give me your hand--Thanks--Ah!--It hurts
horribly--my throat's better--but my arm feels as though it had been
screwed out of the joint. Would you mind sheathing my sword? I can't."

"I ought to have done it before," said Saint Simon; "but I say, lad, let
go. Why, your fingers are grasping it with quite a grip."

"Are they?" said the boy faintly. "I don't feel as if I had any.
Everything is hot and numb."

"Yes, you have had a nasty wrench. But that will soon be right. We
soldiers don't mind unless we are killed. That's better. Here, let's
wipe the blade," and he picked a bunch of grass. "I am not going to
soil my kerchief with the ruffian's blood. That's better," he
continued, as he returned the long thin blade to its sheath. "I'll give
it a polish for you when we get back to the inn. Now do you think you
could mount?"

"No, not yet," said the boy. "Give me a little time."

"Hours, lad; and here, let me arrange your scarf. Stand still. That's
the way. Over your right shoulder--tied in a knot--now opened out
widely here so that your arm can rest in it, like that. Those are
soldiers' knots for a wounded limb.--That feel easier?"

"Not much," said Denis. "Yes, that's better. It seems to take the
weight, and I'm beginning to feel that I've got one now."

"Oh, yes, it will soon come round," cried Saint Simon joyfully. "Now,
boys, it's time you left off sullying your bits with grass," he
continued, to the horses, as he u