"The journey will be fatal to him in any case," said Caillard, still with the mirthless smile and the gleam of white teeth.
The Governor wrung his hands.
"You cannot say that, Colonel.
These gentlemen have still to be tried.
The Military Commission has yet to give its verdict."
"These gentlemen, as you call them, Your Excellency, stand condemned out of their own mouths."
Hornblower remembered that he had made no attempt to deny, while the admiral was questioning him and preparing his report, that he had been in command of the Sutherland the day she wore French colours and her landing party stormed the battery at Llanza.
He had known the ruse to be legitimate enough, but he had not reckoned on a French emperor determined upon convincing European opinion of the perfidy of England and cunning enough to know that a couple of resounding executions might well be considered evidence of guilt.
"The colonel," said the Governor to Hornblower, "has brought his coach.
You may rely upon it that Mistaire Bush will have every possible comfort.
Please tell me which of your men you would like to accompany you as your servant.
And if there is anything which I can provide which will make the journey more comfortable, I will do so with the greatest pleasure."
Hornblower debated internally the question of the servant.
Polwheal, who had served him for years, was among the wounded in the casemate.
Nor, he fancied, would he have selected him in any case; Polwheal was not the man for an emergency — and it was just possible that there might be an emergency.
Latude had escaped from the Bastille.
Was not there a faint chance that he might escape from Vincennes?
Hornblower thought of Brown's bulging muscles and cheerful devotion.
"I would like to take my coxswain, Brown, if you please," he said.
"Certainly.
I will send for him and have your present servant pack your things with him.
And with regard to your needs for the journey?"
"I need nothing," said Hornblower. At the same time as he spoke he cursed himself for his pride.
If he were ever to save himself and Bush from the firing party in the ditch at Vincennes he would need gold.
"Oh, I cannot allow you to say that," protested the Governor.
"There may be some few comforts you would like to buy when you are in France.
Besides, you cannot deprive me of the pleasure of being of assistance to a brave man.
Please do me the favour of accepting my purse.
I beg you to, sir."
Hornblower fought down his pride and took the proffered wallet.
It was of surprising weight and gave out a musical chink as he took it.
"I must thank you for your kindness," he said. "And for all your courtesy while I have been your prisoner."
"It has been a pleasure to me, as I said," replied the Governor.
"I want to wish you the — the very best of luck on your arrival in Paris."
"Enough of this," said Caillard.
"My orders from His Majesty call for the utmost expedition.
Is the wounded man in the courtyard?"
The Governor led the way out, and the gendarmes closed up round Hornblower as they walked towards the coach.
Bush was lying there on a stretcher, strangely pale and strangely wasted out there in the bright light.
He was feebly trying to shield his eyes from the sun; Hornblower ran and knelt beside him.
"They're going to take us to Paris, Bush," he said.
"What, you and me, sir?"
"Yes."
"It's a place I've often wanted to see."
The Italian surgeon who had amputated Bush's foot was plucking at Hornblower's sleeve and fluttering some sheets of paper.
These were instructions, he explained in faulty Italian French, for the further treatment of the stump.
Any surgeon in France would understand them.
As soon as the ligatures came away the wound would heal at once.
He had put a parcel of dressings into the coach for use on the journey.
Hornblower tried to thank him, but was interrupted when the surgeon turned away to supervise the lifting of Bush, stretcher and all, into the coach.