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Updated: September 10, 2025
"What a shame," cried one of the malcontents, "that we, who are ready for anything to get free, should be hindered by you careful and very scrupulous gentlemen!" "We are not hindering you," replied Villemet: "get out if you can whenever you like. We heartily wish all the prisoners may get out. None of us will interfere." "But you will not help us: and not to help is to hinder."
He would have asked his friend, Villemet, to take compassion on his loneliness, and come and stay with him awhile; but the irrepressible fellow had gone off to the wars some time ago, and joined the army of Napoleon, distinguishing himself greatly at Waterloo. Again and again had Tournier's thoughts reverted to Alice Cosin, but each time he had repelled the pleasing idea as an impossibility.
It becomes the brave to weep sometimes. Only noodles never do so. There must be brains to produce tears, and a heart too: and noodles have neither. This went on for many hours. They wanted Villemet to take some rest, but he refused. He dosed in his chair, but the slightest sound awoke him: a sentinel at the shrine of friendship.
Villemet, however, had been ordered back some time before, and returned to prison, it must be owned, with very bad grace. That nice little bedroom, so sweet and clean, with creepers peeping in at him through the window, and reminding him of home; and those blue eyes, that always looked so true, made it hard work to leave.
Next morning, the four went out for their last ride together. Alice and Villemet went first, and the others followed. As they passed the familiar spot where Villemet had spent so many weary days and nights, Alice remarked, how glad he must be that he was a free man once more.
And they two kept watch all through the night, hearing the church-clock, close by, strike every hour; Cosin keeping out of sight, and Villemet sitting where the eyes of the patient might more easily see him, should they ever open again. The fever increased. Restlessness began. Then a murmur, very faint, startled them; but it was nothing.
But when passion urges a man, good-bye to his logic! Villemet said nothing to Tournier about it. He knew it would be of no use. Nor did he say anything to anybody. He had no wish to incur the responsibility of involving others in the rash attempt. There was an inn called the "Wheat Sheaf" in the parish of Stibbington, about five miles from the barracks.
The major was in no hurry about it, out of consideration probably for Tournier. At last, one day, Villemet, who kept up a sharp enquiry, announced the good news that the colonel was to be out next day.
Villemet could not make out what was the matter with him. One day they were walking together in the yard, when Tournier suddenly said, "Villemet, I want you to do something for me. It will, perhaps, be the last favour you will ever show me." "Then I would rather not do it." "But you must. Who do you think is in the prison at this present moment? Fontenoy. He came with the others some days ago."
Yet it so happened that the next time Tournier aroused, Villemet was out of the room, and Cosin had taken his place. The afternoon sun was lighting up his face with a slanting ray as he sat by the bedside and looked toward the window; and when he turned his eyes again on his friend, he could hardly refrain from starting. Tournier was gazing on him with a look of intense earnestness. "Where am I?"
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