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Updated: June 18, 2025
And, as Rickerl hesitated, with a scowl of hate at the franc-tireurs now swarming over the wall, Jack seized the sabre and jerked it violently from his hand. "You're crazy!" he muttered. "Run for the batteries! here, this way!" A franc-tireur fired at them point-blank, and the bullet whistled between them. "Leave me. Give me my sabre," said Rickerl, in a low voice. "Then we'll both stay."
"And uncle and our aunt De Morteyn?" "I shall stay at Morteyn until they decide whether to close the house and go to Paris or to stay until October. Dorrie, dear, we are very near the frontier here." "There will be no invasion," said Lorraine, faintly. "The Rhine is very near," repeated Dorothy. She was thinking of Rickerl.
As for dishonour that is the cry of the pack, the refuge of the snarling mob yelping at the bombastic vociferations of some mean-souled demagogue; and in Paris there were many, and the pack howled in the Republic at the crack of the lash. "Lady Hesketh is here, too," said Lorraine. "She appears to be a little reconciled to her loss. Dorothy, it breaks my heart to see Rickerl.
"It sounds as though the Herald wanted you for some expedition; it sounds as if everybody knew about the expedition, except you. Nobody ever hears any news at Morteyn," said Molly Hesketh, dejectedly. "Are you going, Jack?" "Going? Where?" "Does your telegram throw any light on Jack's, Ricky?" asked Sir Thorald. But Rickerl von Elster turned away without answering.
He saw Rickerl run after him, seize the bridle, stumble, recover, and hang to the stirrup; but the horse tore away and left him running on behind, one hand grasping his naked sabre, one clutching a bit of the treacherous bridle. "À mort les Uhlans!" shouted the franc-tireurs, their ferocious faces lighting up as Rickerl's horse eluded its rider and crashed away through the saplings.
Rickerl cast one swift glance at the savage faces, turned his head like a trapped wolf in a pit, hesitated, and started to run. A chorus of howls greeted him: "À mort!" "À mort le voleur!" "À la lanterne les Uhlans!" Scarcely conscious of what he was doing, Jack sprang from his tree and ran parallel to Rickerl. "Ricky!" he called in English "follow me! Hurry! hurry!"
She had chosen, besides Dorothy Marche and Betty Castlemaine, the two nieces in question, Barbara Lisle and her inseparable little German friend, Alixe von Elster; also the latter's brother, Rickerl, or Ricky, as he was called in diplomatic circles.
Jack, panting full length in the shadow of the straw-stack, told Rickerl the whole wretched story, from the time of his leaving Forbach, after having sent the despatches to the Herald, up to the moment he had called to Rickerl there in the meadow, surrounded by Uhlans, a rope already choking him senseless.
"I think I see him now," said Sir Thorald "no, it's Bosquet's boy from the post-office. Those are telegrams he's got." The little postman's son came trotting across the meadow, waving two blue envelopes. "Monsieur le Capitaine Rickerl von Elster and Monsieur Jack Marche two telegrams this instant from Paris, messieurs! I salute you."
The franc-tireurs could not see Jack, but they heard his voice, and answered it with a roar. Rickerl, too, heard it, and he also heard the sound of Jack's feet crashing through the willows along the river-bottom. "Jack!" he cried. "Quick! Take to the river-bank!" shouted Jack in English again.
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