6th August - Par un Dimanche au Soir

"No.  Time to go in.  Pick up all your animals."  He gestured for the officer to take his seat if he wished, and the man did so with a nod of thanks.

"Please, sit down, Kerjean," the officer said, indicating the chair where Paol had been sitting earlier.  "I am Capitaine Baillargeon of the 5ème Chasseurs-à-Cheval. I see you were injured." Gone was his officious manner, and instead his tone was one of open interest.

Paol did as he was told, sinking heavily onto the stool again. "I got caught in the fires," he said simply. "An English sawbones took a look at it, before they turned us over to the Spanish. Then the Spanish turned around and tried quartering some of us wounded on the town folk. That's how we came here."

The captain nodded soberly. "The fires were terrible, by all accounts. I lost many of my men." Then his face lightened somewhat. "But you give me hope that some of them will have survived, and we'll find them quartered throughout the town. But you said 'we.' Are there others with you then?"

"Aye, two other lads from my company. Charcot's been watching your lot ride through all day. Don't think I've ever seen him so happy..."

The captain smiled. "I can well imagine. And you say the Spanish have treated you well?"

"The folk we've been staying with, aye, and the carpenter and his family. The've been – well, they'd no cause to treat us well and they did, better'n well. Dunno why. They even tried lookin' after me – not that I made it easy for them..." He shut his eyes. He didn't know why he was talking like this, and to an officer of all things. The wine must have gone to his head.

Baillargeon frowned with concen. "Looking after your injury?" And now the soldier was closing his eyes, his face flushed. "Well I'm glad to hear it. But you look as if you could do with a good night's sleep now. Or is there anything I can do for you? I may be able to summon a surgeon in the morning."

Paol looked mildly bewildered. "Tomorrow...No, no, I'll be—Thank you, sir. I'll get things sorted once tomorrow's over."

"Very well. I recommend you get back to your quarters and sleep. You should sleep well now that you're a free man once again. Which house is it?"

"Just there, sir," he said, pointing to the Castillo house. He got slowly to his feet. "Goodnight, sir."

"Good night, soldat. And good luck to you."

The words took him a bit by surprise and he checked, unsure if the officer had meant them the way he had heard them. But regardless of context, he was going to need all the luck he could get. "Thank you, sir," he said quietly and turning, made his way back to the house.

Inside he found Charcot where he'd left him. He was asleep, his head resting on the sill of the window. As gently as he could, he roused him and led him up the stairs to their little room and, when he thought he was once more asleep, slipped out again and down the hall to the other room, Pablito's room as Manuela had called it.

The women were still up and awake, so he would have to wait. He sank down on the bed, fighting the overwhelming desire to curl onto his side. He was so tired. The conversation with Baillargeon and what the carpenter had said about Perro had given his mind something else to chase, but even that, even the unrelenting pain in his arm couldn't seem to keep him awake.

He didn't remember falling asleep, but sometime -- how long, he had no idea -- later he awoke, slumped awkwardly on his side. With a muffled curse, he rolled onto the floor, onto his knees and then struggled to his feet.

It was black as pitch in the little room and the hallway was no better as he padded barefoot to the foot of the stairs and paused, listening, but the house was quiet. Good.

Feeling along the wall, he made his way down the stairs. He nearly fell over a chair, stumbling across the kitchen floor, but by some miracle he found the table without bringing the entire house down around their ears, and fell into a chair. He slumped forward over the table, resting his head on his arm and closed his eyes. The officer's words echoed in his head, 'Good luck.' Good luck. Just make it through tomorrow. If he could just make it through tomorrow...