He stopped here a little while in the lee of a great oak to protect
himself from the driving rain, and he noticed then that it was but a
passing shower, sent, it seemed then to him, as a providential aid. The
part of the rumble that was real thunder was dying. The yellow flare of
the lightning stopped and the rain swept off to the east. The moon and
stars were coming out again.
John tried to see the chateau, but it was hidden from him by trees. They
would miss him there, and then they would know that it was he whom the
soldiers had fired upon at the edge of the pond. All of them would
believe that he was dead, and he remembered suddenly that Julie, who was
there among them, would believe it, too. Would she grieve? Or would he
merely be one of the human beings passing through her life, fleeting and
forgotten, like the shower that had just gone? It was true that he had
escaped, but he might be killed in some battle before she was rescued
from Auersperg--if she was rescued.
These thoughts were hateful, and turning into the road by which they had
come to the chateau he ran down it. He ran because he wanted motion,
because he wished to reach the French army as quickly as he could, and
help Lannes organize for the rescue of Julie.
He ran a long distance, because his excitement waned slowly, and because
the severe exercise made the blood course rapidly through his veins,
counteracting the effects of his cold and wetting.
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