Still, however, he had been carried alive into the town, had been laid
in a settle-bed in the little inn, and had his wounds dressed with such
surgical skill as the town afforded. He had spoken once since he fell,
and had then begged, in an almost inarticulate whisper, that Henri
Larochejaquelin would come to him, and this message had been delivered,
and was attended to.
There were not many to watch and attend his bed-side, for many others
beside him in the town were in the same position; and though it was
known to a few that the Mad Captain of La Petite Vendee had been seen
during the whole day riding by the side of their own General, Denot had
not yet been recognized by many of the Vendeans, and most of those
around him were indifferent to his fate. When Henri reached the room in
which he lay, no one was with him, but the poor baker of Laval, who had
entered the town with Chapeau, and having heard that his Captain was
mortally wounded, had lost not a moment in tendering him his services.
The poor man was sitting on a low stool, close by Denot's head, and in
his lap he held a wooden bowl of water, with which, from time to time,
he moistened the mouth of the wounded man, dipping his hand into the
water, and letting the drops fall from his fingers on to his lips.
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