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Updated: June 25, 2025
A dog of the Vosges, as large as a wolf, with bloodshot eyes and bristling hair, flew at Cyprien's throat, who fell on the floor. "Help! Help!" cried the scoundrel. The Marquis, livid with terror, had succeeded in opening the door. "Here, Cliepé! Here!" shouted Pierre. The dog gave Cyprien another furious shake, and dropped him. He rolled himself out of the door. Pierre flung it to and bolted it.
"Before you went to Saloniki, I see you fought at Verdun." "Yes, sir." "And at Beausejour?" "Yes, sir." "And Vauquois?" "Yes, sir." The eyes of the two veterans met; the officer's glance seeking to pierce that of the soldier in front of him. Then suddenly, in an irresistible burst of sympathy and respect, he thrust out his hand and caught up one of Cyprien's bandaged pair.
His hunger being somewhat stayed, Sir Francis now found leisure to consider the young man who had so greatly befriended him, and, as a means of promoting conversation between them, began by filling his glass from a flask of excellent Bordeaux, of which, in spite of Cyprien's efforts to prevent him, he had contrived to gain possession.
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