At this the Count smiled, but said nothing, being apparently very weak. Presently he shut his eyes and swooned.
"Go, my friend, I will keep him alive till she comes," said the Frenchman, and away went Markof upon his mission.
Vera received the messenger, pale but dry-eyed and resolute.
"When I left," he said; "but he is bad, lady; do not expect too much. A Frenchman sits by his side, wounded also, who has undertaken to keep him alive with brandy until you come. They seem to know one another."
Vera looked puzzled for a minute, then her face brightened.
"I am ready," she said, "and my droshka is ready, we will go at once."
Markof led the way to the spot in which Sasha had fallen. Amid the dead and dying around they found Paul de Tourelle dozing, but Sasha had disappeared. Paul opened his eyes at the sound of their voices.
"Ah! the fair Vera," he said; "I am glad I have lived long enough to see you; I am desolate, Mademoiselle, by reason of your treatment of me, yet I forgive you. Your friend Maximof has been taken by Russian peasants to the village yonder; me they left, after bestowing a great whack upon my head with a bludgeon--Maximof is alive; he----" Paul's head drooped and he closed his eyes. He had spoken gaily, but his voice came faintly and in gasps.
"Markof, my friend, go to the village and find the Count Maximof," said Vera. "I will come very soon. See that I am shown the right house without delay when I arrive."
Vera took the flask which lay at Paul's feet; she administered a drop or two of its contents to the swooning man. He opened his eyes and smiled.
"This is the irony of fate, Mademoiselle Vera--two splendid lovers, and both to lie dying. I am glad to see you again. _Mon Dieu_, how I loved you in Paris! I have never yet loved faithfully, but in you I thought I had at length found my destiny."
"Monsieur, can I ease your pain, is there anything I can do for you?" said Vera.
"_Ma mie_, I am past praying for; tell me, were you near loving me in Paris? _Sapristi_, but for this war I believe we should have come together. You are lucky, Mademoiselle, to have escaped me. I am not one of the constant ones. Perhaps Maximof is different, he is slow and stolid and perhaps faithful, not like us Frenchmen--we are like the bubbles in champagne--we come and go--I pray that Maximof may live." Paul's head drooped again and his eyes closed. Vera thought he was dead. She bent and kissed his forehead, preparing to depart. De Tourelle opened his eyes again.