I rode on, tossed
about in my mind. So much hung on this. If I could not give the
countersign, I should have to fight my way back again the road I
came. But I must try my luck. So I went on, beating up my heart to
confidence; and now I came to the St. Louis Gate. A tiny fire was
burning near, and two sentinels stepped forward as I rode boldly on
the entrance.
"Qui va la?" was the sharp call.
"France," was my reply, in a voice as like the peasant's as
possible.
"Advance and give the countersign," came the demand.
Another voice called from the darkness of the wall: "Come and
drink, comrade; I've a brother with Bougainville."
"Jesu," said I to the sentinel, answering his demand for the
countersign, and I spurred on my horse idly, though my heart was
thumping hard, for there were several sturdy fellows lying beyond
the dull handful of fire.
Instantly the sentinel's hand came to my bridle-rein. "Halt!"
roared he.
Surely some good spirit was with me then to prompt me, for,
with a careless laugh, as though I had not before finished the
countersign, "Christ," I added--"Jesu Christ!"
With an oath the soldier let go the bridle-rein, the other
opened the gates, and I passed through.
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