A group of armed men--rough-looking rascals--were standing round
the door, and amid them facing the dais was a young fellow in the
uniform of the light infantry. As he turned his head I
recognised him. It was Captain Auret, of the 7th, a young Basque
with whom I had drunk many a glass during the winter.
He was deadly white, poor wretch, but he held himself manfully
amid the assassins who surrounded him. Never shall I forget the
sudden flash of hope which shone in his dark eyes when he saw a
comrade burst into the room, or the look of despair which
followed as he understood that I had come not to change his fate
but to share it.
You can think how amazed these people were when I hurled myself
into their presence. My pursuers had crowded in behind me and
choked the doorway, so that all further flight was out of the
question. It is at such instants that my nature asserts itself.
With dignity I advanced toward the tribunal. My jacket was torn,
my hair was dishevelled, my head was bleeding, but there was that
in my eyes and in my carriage which made them realise that no
common man was before them.
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