He went on a few paces and then stopped again, and in the darkness held up one hand, commanding silence. It was the churches of Dantzig striking the hour.
“Six o'clock,” he whispered, “it will soon be dawn. Yes--we are half an hour too early.”
He sat down, and, by a gesture, bade Desiree sit beside him.
“Yes,” he said, “the Captain told me that he is bound for England to convoy larger ships, and you will sail in one of them. He has a home in the west of England, and he will take you there--a sister or a mother, I forget which--some woman. You cannot get on without women--you others. It is there that you will be happy, as the bon Dieu meant you to be. It is only in England that no one fears Napoleon. One may have a husband there and not fear that he will be killed. One may have children and not tremble for them--and it is that that makes you happy--you women.”
Presently he rose and led the way down the slope. At the foot of it, he paused, and pointing out a long line of trees, said in a whisper--
“He is there--where there are three taller trees. Between us and those trees are the French outposts. At dawn the Russians attack the outposts, and during the attack we have simply to go through it to those trees. There is no other way--that is the rendezvous. Those three tall trees. When I give the word, you get up and run to those trees--run without pausing, without looking round. I will follow. It is you he has come for--not Barlasch. You think I know nothing. Bah! I know everything. I have always known it--your poor little secret.”
They lay on the snow crouching in a ditch until a grey line appeared low down in the Eastern sky and the horizon slowly distinguished itself from the thin thread of cloud that nearly always awaits the rising of the sun in Northern latitudes.
A minute later the dark group of trees broke into intermittent flame and the sharp, short “Hurrah!” of the Cossacks, like an angry bark, came sweeping across the plain on the morning breeze.
“Not yet,” whispered Barlasch, with a gay chuckle of enjoyment. “Not yet--not yet. Listen, the bullets are not coming here, but are going past to the right of us. When you go, keep to the left. Slowly at first--keep a little breath till the end. Now, up! Mademoiselle, run; name of thunder, let us run!”