officer’s is probably worn out; if he tries to make me dismount, I’ll gallop off.” In the course of this reasoning Fabrizio reined in his horse, advancing as slowly as possible.
“Come on then, hussar!” the mounted officer shouted in a commanding tone of voice.
Fabrizio advanced a few steps and stopped. “You’re after my horse?” he cried.
“No, of course not. Forward!”
Fabrizio stared at the officer: he had a white moustache and an honorable expression; the sling supporting his left arm was covered with blood, and his right hand, too, was wrapped in a bloody cloth. “It’s theother two who will leap for my horse’s bridle,” Fabrizio speculated, but looking closely he saw that these men were wounded as well.
“In the name of honor,” said the officer, who was wearing a colonel’s epaulettes, “stay on guard here and tell every dragoon, cavalryman, and hussar who comes in sight that Colonel Le Baron is in that inn over there, and that I order them to join me there.”
The old colonel seemed overcome with pain; by his first words he had made a conquest of our hero, who answered quite sensibly: “I’m too young, sir, for anyone to pay much attention to me; I should have an order written in your own hand.”
“Right,” the colonel said, observing Fabrizio closely; “write the order, La Rose, you’ve still got a right hand.”
Without a word, La Rose took a tiny vellum notebook out of his pocket, scribbled a few lines, and, tearing off a sheet, handed it to Fabrizio; the colonel repeated his order, adding that after two hours on guard Fabrizio would be relieved, as was proper, by one of the three wounded cavalrymen who were with him. He and his men then went into the inn. Fabrizio watched them walk away and sat motionless at his end of the wooden bridge, struck by the grim and silent suffering of the three figures. “Like spirits under a spell,” he mused. Finally he unfolded the sheet of paper and read the order, which ran as follows:
Colonel Le Baron of the Sixth Dragoons, commanding the Second Brigade of the First Division of Cavalry of the Fourteenth Corps, orders all dragoons and cavalrymen to join him at the White Horse Inn beside the La Sainte Bridge, at his headquarters.
June 19, 1815
For Colonel Le Baron, wounded in the right arm, and on his orders, Sergeant La Rose.
Fabrizio had been on guard duty no more than a quarter of an hour when he saw approaching six mounted men and three on foot; he showed them the colonel’s order.
“We’ll be back,” said four of the riders, and they cantered across the bridge. Fabrizio then remonstrated with the other two. During thelively discussion which ensued, the three men on foot crossed the bridge. One of the remaining men on horseback ended by asking to see the order and took it with him, saying: “I’ll bring this to my friends, they’ll be sure to come back; you wait for them here.” And he galloped off, his comrades following. All this happened in the wink of an eye.
Fabrizio, furious, called to one of the wounded soldiers, who appeared at a window of the White Horse Inn. This soldier, who was wearing a sergeant’s stripes, came out of the inn and shouted to Fabrizio as he approached: “Draw your sword, soldier! You’re on duty here.”
Fabrizio obeyed, then told him: “They’ve taken the order.”
“They’re in a nasty mood after yesterday’s business,” the sergeant replied gloomily. “I’ll give you one of my pistols; if anyone tries to get past you again, fire into the air. I’ll come, or the colonel himself …”
Fabrizio had noticed the sergeant’s gesture of surprise when he had informed him of the stolen order; he realized that this was a personal insult, and promised himself not to let such a trick be played on him again.
Armed with the sergeant’s horse-pistol, Fabrizio had proudly returned to guard duty when he saw seven mounted hussars approaching: he took up a position barring access to the
“Come on then, hussar!” the mounted officer shouted in a commanding tone of voice.
Fabrizio advanced a few steps and stopped. “You’re after my horse?” he cried.
“No, of course not. Forward!”
Fabrizio stared at the officer: he had a white moustache and an honorable expression; the sling supporting his left arm was covered with blood, and his right hand, too, was wrapped in a bloody cloth. “It’s theother two who will leap for my horse’s bridle,” Fabrizio speculated, but looking closely he saw that these men were wounded as well.
“In the name of honor,” said the officer, who was wearing a colonel’s epaulettes, “stay on guard here and tell every dragoon, cavalryman, and hussar who comes in sight that Colonel Le Baron is in that inn over there, and that I order them to join me there.”
The old colonel seemed overcome with pain; by his first words he had made a conquest of our hero, who answered quite sensibly: “I’m too young, sir, for anyone to pay much attention to me; I should have an order written in your own hand.”
“Right,” the colonel said, observing Fabrizio closely; “write the order, La Rose, you’ve still got a right hand.”
Without a word, La Rose took a tiny vellum notebook out of his pocket, scribbled a few lines, and, tearing off a sheet, handed it to Fabrizio; the colonel repeated his order, adding that after two hours on guard Fabrizio would be relieved, as was proper, by one of the three wounded cavalrymen who were with him. He and his men then went into the inn. Fabrizio watched them walk away and sat motionless at his end of the wooden bridge, struck by the grim and silent suffering of the three figures. “Like spirits under a spell,” he mused. Finally he unfolded the sheet of paper and read the order, which ran as follows:
Colonel Le Baron of the Sixth Dragoons, commanding the Second Brigade of the First Division of Cavalry of the Fourteenth Corps, orders all dragoons and cavalrymen to join him at the White Horse Inn beside the La Sainte Bridge, at his headquarters.
June 19, 1815
For Colonel Le Baron, wounded in the right arm, and on his orders, Sergeant La Rose.
Fabrizio had been on guard duty no more than a quarter of an hour when he saw approaching six mounted men and three on foot; he showed them the colonel’s order.
“We’ll be back,” said four of the riders, and they cantered across the bridge. Fabrizio then remonstrated with the other two. During thelively discussion which ensued, the three men on foot crossed the bridge. One of the remaining men on horseback ended by asking to see the order and took it with him, saying: “I’ll bring this to my friends, they’ll be sure to come back; you wait for them here.” And he galloped off, his comrades following. All this happened in the wink of an eye.
Fabrizio, furious, called to one of the wounded soldiers, who appeared at a window of the White Horse Inn. This soldier, who was wearing a sergeant’s stripes, came out of the inn and shouted to Fabrizio as he approached: “Draw your sword, soldier! You’re on duty here.”
Fabrizio obeyed, then told him: “They’ve taken the order.”
“They’re in a nasty mood after yesterday’s business,” the sergeant replied gloomily. “I’ll give you one of my pistols; if anyone tries to get past you again, fire into the air. I’ll come, or the colonel himself …”
Fabrizio had noticed the sergeant’s gesture of surprise when he had informed him of the stolen order; he realized that this was a personal insult, and promised himself not to let such a trick be played on him again.
Armed with the sergeant’s horse-pistol, Fabrizio had proudly returned to guard duty when he saw seven mounted hussars approaching: he took up a position barring access to the
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