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"Murder, Mademoiselle!" I gasped, letting my hand fall. "Surely there is no murder in this!" "A suspicion of it, I think, and so brave a man should have clean hands." We did not long remain upon the field of battle. Indeed, if we lingered at all it was but so that Mademoiselle might bandage Michelot's wound.
As soon as I was assured of it, I reined in my horse, and taking a pistol from the holster, I levelled it at the shadow, accompanying the act by a sonorous "Who goes there?" The shadow stirred, and Michelot's voice answered me: "'T is I, Monsieur. They have arrived. I came to warn you." "Who has arrived?" I shouted. "The soldiers. They are lodged at the Lys de France."
Our horses were ready, my pistols holstered, and my valise strapped to Michelot's saddle. Despite the desperate outlook of my fortunes, of which I had made him fully cognisant, he insisted upon clinging to me, reminding me that at Rocroi I had saved his life and that he would leave me only when I bade him go.
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