"Yet, God knows," I exclaimed, "that is little enough, for we are all likely to be in a Russian prison to-morrow. You know, sir," I said, turning to him, "that the bridge is down and the army trapped."
"The bridge is down," he cried, "but another may be built. Save my son, major, and you may yet save France."
I had no idea of his meaning. If I thought of it at all, it was to remind myself that this family had suffered much, and that the father's talk might be little more rational than the son's at such a moment. Bidding the child run back to the house I had quitted, and thence bring my nephew and my case of instruments, I assured the old gentleman that I would do my best and that he might count upon me. The young man, meanwhile, did not cease to rave in a voice which was most distressing to hear, and, catching me by the hand as I bent over him, he implored me, for God's sake, to let the Emperor know immediately. When I, however, asked him for a message he could give me none. "The bridge!" he would cry, and repeat the words a hundred times. His very frenzy was a terrible thing to see.
My nephew and Mademoiselle Valerie returned to the arbour with the child anon, being anxious as to my whereabouts. Léon was frankly disgusted with the whole business, and would have had me return to the house immediately.
"There are a thousand worse than this man for every league you march," said he. "Really, mon oncle, this is no time for sentiment."
In her turn, Valerie told him to be silent, and seemed really concerned at the misfortunes of the unhappy family.
"I know them well," she said to me. "The mother is a relative of the Duke de Melun, and old General d'Izambert often came to my father's house. Imagine the madness which brought such old people to Russia because their boy was going!"
I rejoined that it was the kind of madness which had become common in France during recent years. And this was the truth, for many a family had gone out merely because sons or brothers were there. It was clear that an unusual bond of affection united these brave people, and that the memory of the dead mother provoked a sentiment very real. Father and daughter alike watched me with pitiful eyes while I bled the young _pontonnier_, and they hastened to obey me when I commanded them to melt snow in a cup and to give him a cooling drink.