By-and-by another pitcher of snow was brought in by Henri’s first acquaintance, whose name was Pontet.
When with some difficulty he had distributed the coveted refreshment among its many eager and agonized claimants, he said briefly, as he set down his pitcher, “I have news.”
Heads were raised and eyes were turned towards him, but for the most part languidly; suffering had well-nigh killed desire and hope--even fear was scarcely felt.
“The Emperor is come,” said Pontet. In that word there was a spell potent enough to arouse the dying. On every side exclamations arose--“Come back! Retaken the town! Stolen a march upon them all! Ah, what joy! What a triumph!” and one voice, weak but courageous, raised the old well-remembered cry, “Vive Napoléon!”
“Hush, you fools!” said Pontet sharply. “Napoleon is far enough away. Do you think there is no other Emperor in the world? I am speaking of the Emperor Alexander.”
Bitter was the disappointment, especially to dying hearts. Pontet came in for sundry curses, feeble but emphatic, and one sick man flung his cup at him. “How dare you raise our hopes only to dash them so cruelly?” he cried.
“I had more to tell,” Pontet continued; “but if you care not to listen, I can spare my breath.”
“Tell us, friend, tell us,” spoke two or three voices together.
“I have made a friend amongst the guards who knows a little French, and is disposed to be communicative. He says the Czar has appointed General St. Priest governor and guardian of all the prisoners.”
“A Frenchman in the service of Russia. _Because_ he is a Frenchman this office has been given him. My comrades, this looks well.”
“Nothing looks well now but the grave,” said the man who cried “Vive Napoléon.”
“Pontet,” he continued, “I don’t think much of your news. St. Priest may be a Frenchman, but then he must be a pretty rascal, to fight against France.”
“What is that noise?” asked Henri, as the loud rattling of an iron chain was heard.
“They are only swinging the great lamp up to its place, where it hangs from the roof. How early they are lighting it to-night! It will be daylight in the court for another hour.”
After this Henri fell into a troubled, uneasy sleep. When he awoke, there was a general stir around him, and a murmur of suppressed excitement. “What is the matter?” he asked of Pontet, who was sitting near him, resting his head on his hand.