Argosy, Vol. 1 (1882) — page 348: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

IN THE TRAIL OF DEFEAT. peasants took up the cry, “ The pur- suit! The Prussian dogs are in pur- suit! ”’ Clarisse looked down the steep path. A man was struggling up the incline. He was dressed in the uniform of: France and bore the insignia of an officer. His coat was thrown back showing his shirt open at the throat on which the heat of the day and the baptism of Prussian fire had left their mark. His head was roughly bandaged, and the dust soiled strip of linen was stained with a red glow that spread and spread even as Clarisse looked. She looked at him again and then turned sharply, went inside and crossed over to her loom. The officer appeared in the doorway and leaned heavily against the jamb, panting pain- fully, with one hand at the wound in his throat. ‘“‘ Clarisse,” he faltered. The woman in the far corner of the room turned and looked at him but did not pause in her weaving, and the incessant whir whir of the shuttle as she pushed it from her and drew it back in place was as an echo to the shouting in the valley. “ Clarisse! ” and he staggered to the middle of the room and half fell across a bench. She pushed the shuttle from her and came and stood in front of him. ° “Well?” she said. “Clarisse—don’t you know me? Clarisse, they are after me! I am wounded. I can’t go another step. Clarisse, hide me somewhere—any- where!” His voice rose harshly. She stood silent, her hands, callous from the long years of weaving, pressed tightly together. “ Clarisse! Why do you look at me so? Clarisse, don’t you know me? ” “TIT know you. I knew you as you came up the path,” said Clarisse. From the valley the sound of the re- treat came to them and the cry of the pursuit. , evoices sounded nearer. 339 “ Clarisse, what are you going to do with mer Clarisse, you must save me!” he cried in a sudden panic of un- conquerable fear. She looked into his face again. No word for her! No word of her wrong or of the past! A strange inscrutable smile crept around her mouth. “ Clarisse, if you won't do it for me —because I am for France! ” he cried, crawling from the bench to a heap at her feet. He clutched at her skirt wild- ly. “For France——” his voice trailed off. “ Do you think,” said Clarisse bend- ing over him and touching the uniform he wore with one finger, “do you think that I don’t know it is the French you are running away from—not the Prussians? Do you think I didn’t hear you were in Von Moltke’s army? That I didn’t know you were a ” “No, no!” he cried ratsing himself to his knees and trying to silence her, “ Don’t say it, Clarisse—don’t!” He looked about him fearfully, the old ab- ject fear returning. “A spy,” finished Clarisse calmly. His grasp relaxed and he shrank away from her. “What are you going to do with me?” he whispered again. “Why did you come to me for pity? ” asked Clarisse. He did not answer. The valley A squad of French soldiers were coming up the path. They were calling relentlessly something—his name! Behind them pressed the women and the children, with their taunting voices, echoing that something—his name! The man crawled over to her where she stood by the quiet loom and raised his ghastly face to hers, seeking some compassion. ‘They are coming, Clarisse! Don’t you hear them? They are coming! They won’t retreat to Sedan without me! They vowed to have me, dead or alive. Clarisse, thay’ sp trang 7 CO