The flash
of fire was not so fleet as the swiftness of her love; and on his breast
she threw herself, and flung her arms about him, and turned her head
backward with her old, dauntless, sunlit smile as the balls pierced her
bosom, and broke her limbs, and were turned away by the shield of warm
young life from him.
Her arms were gliding from about his neck, and her shot limbs were
sinking to the earth as he caught her up where she dropped to his feet.
"O God! my child! They have killed you!"
He suffered more, as the cry broke from him, than if the bullets had
brought him that death which he saw at one glance had stricken down
forever all the glory of her childhood, all the gladness of her youth.
She laughed--all the clear, imperious, arch laughter of her sunniest
hours unchanged.
"Chut! It is the powder and ball of France! That does not hurt. If it
was an Arbico's bullet now! But wait! Here is the Marshal's order.
He suspends your sentence; I have told him all. You are safe!--do you
hear?--you are safe! How he looks! Is he grieved to live? Mes Francais!
Tell him clearer than I can tell--here is the order. The General must
have it. No--not out of my hand till the General sees it. Fetch him,
some of you--fetch him to me."
"Great Heavens! You have given your life for mine!"
The words broke from him in an agony as he held her upward against his
heart, himself so blind, so stunned, with the sudden recall from death
to life, and with the sacrifice whereby life was thus brought to him,
that he could scarce see her face, scarce hear her voice, but only
dimly, incredulously, terribly knew, in some vague sense, that she was
dying, and dying thus for him.
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