trooped out of Sedan in deepest mystery and shaped their course for Belgium, noiselessly, without beat of drum, over the least frequented roads like a thief stealing away in the night.
PART THIRD
I.
All the long, long day of the battle Silvine, up on Remilly hill, where Father Fouchard's little farm was situated, but her heart and soul absent with Honore amid the dangers of the conflict, never once took her eyes from off Sedan, where the guns were roaring. The following day, moreover, her anxiety was even greater still, being increased by her inability to obtain any definite tidings, for the Prussians who were guarding the roads in the vicinity refused to answer questions, as much from reasons of policy as because they knew but very little themselves. The bright sun of the day before was no longer visible, and showers had fallen, making the valley look less cheerful than usual in the wan light.
Toward evening Father Fouchard, who was also haunted by a sensation of uneasiness in the midst of his studied taciturnity, was standing on his doorstep reflecting on the probable outcome of events. His son had no place in his thoughts, but he was speculating how he best might convert the misfortunes of others into fortune for himself, and as he revolved these considerations in his mind he noticed a tall, strapping young fellow, dressed in the peasant's blouse, who had been strolling up and down the road for the last minute or so, looking as if he did not know what to do with himself. His astonishment on recognizing him was so great that he called him aloud by name, notwithstanding that three Prussians happened to be passing at the time.
'Why, Prosper! Is that you?'
The chasseur d'Afrique imposed silence on him with an emphatic gesture; then, coming closer, he said in an undertone:
'Yes, it is I. I have had enough of fighting for nothing, and I cut my lucky. Say, Father Fouchard, you don't happen to be in need of a laborer on your farm, do you?'
All the old man's prudence came back to him in a twinkling. He
'A lad on the farm? faith, no-not just now. Come in, though, all the same, and have a glass. I shan't leave you out on the road when you're in trouble, that's sure.'
Silvine, in the kitchen, was setting the pot of soup on the fire, while little Charlot was hanging by her skirts, frolicking and laughing. She did not recognize Prosper at first, although they had formerly served together in the same household, and it was not until she came in, bringing a bottle of wine and two glasses, that she looked him squarely in the face. She uttered a cry of joy and surprise; her sole thought was of Honore.
'Ah, you were there, weren't you? Is Honore all right?'
Prosper's answer was ready to slip from his tongue; he hesitated. For the last two days he had been living in a dream, among a rapid succession of strange, ill-defined events which left behind them no precise memory, as a man starts, half-awakened, from a slumber peopled with fantastic visions. It was true, doubtless, he believed he had seen Honore lying upon a cannon, dead, but he would not have cared to swear to it; what use is there in afflicting people when one is not certain?
'Honore,' he murmured, 'I don't know, I couldn't say.'
She continued to press him with her questions, looking at him steadily.
'You did not see him, then?'
He waved his hands before him with a slow, uncertain motion and an expressive shake of the head.
'How can you expect one to remember! There were such lots of things, such lots of things. Look you, of all that d---d battle, if I was to die for it this minute, I could not tell you that much-no, not even the place where I was. I believe men get to be no better than idiots, 'pon my word I do!' And tossing off a glass of wine, he sat gloomily silent, his vacant eyes turned inward on the dark recesses of his memory. 'All that I remember is that it was beginning to be dark when I recovered consciousness. I went down while we were charging, and then the sun was very high. I must have been lying there for hours, my right leg caught under poor old Zephyr, who had received a piece of shell in the middle of his chest. There was nothing to laugh at in my position, I can tell you; the dead comrades lying around me in piles, not a living soul in sight, and the certainty that I should have to kick the bucket too unless someone came to put me on my legs again. Gently, gently, I tried to free my leg, but it was no use; Zephyr's weight must have been fully up to that of the five hundred thousand devils. He was warm still. I patted him, I spoke to him, saying all the pretty things I could think of, and here's a thing, do you see, that I shall never forget as long as I live: he opened his eyes and made an effort to raise his poor old head, which was resting on the ground beside my own. Then we had a talk together: 'Poor old fellow,' says I, 'I don't want to say a word to hurt your feelings, but you must want to see me croak with you, you hold me down so hard.' Of course he didn't say he did; he couldn't, but for all that I could read in his great sorrowful eyes how bad he felt to have to part with me. And I can't say how the thing happened, whether he intended it or whether it was part of the death struggle, but all at once he gave himself a great shake that sent him rolling away to one side. I was enabled to get on my feet once more, but ah! in what a pickle; my leg was swollen and heavy as a leg of lead. Never mind, I took Zephyr's head in my arms and kept on talking to him, telling him all the kind thoughts I had in my heart, that he was a good horse, that I loved him dearly, that I should never forget him. He listened to me, he seemed to be so pleased! Then he had another long convulsion, and so he died, with his big vacant eyes fixed on me till the last. It is very strange, though, and I don't suppose anyone will believe me; still, it is the simple truth that great, big tears were standing in his eyes. Poor old Zephyr, he cried just like a man-'
At this point Prosper's emotion got the better of him; tears choked his utterance and he was obliged to break off. He gulped down another glass of wine and went on with his narrative in disjointed, incomplete sentences. It kept growing darker and darker, until there was only a narrow streak of red light on the horizon at the verge of the battlefield; the shadows of the dead horses seemed to be projected across the plain to an infinite distance. The pain and stiffness in his leg kept him from moving; he must have remained for a long time beside Zephyr. Then, with his fears as an incentive, he had managed to get on his feet and hobble away; it was an imperative necessity to him not to be alone, to find comrades who would share his fears with him and make them less. Thus from every nook and corner of the battlefield, from hedges and ditches and clumps of bushes, the wounded who had been left behind dragged themselves painfully in search of companionship, forming when possible little bands of four or five, finding it less hard to agonize and die in the company of their fellow-beings. In the wood of la Garenne Prosper fell in with two men of the 43d regiment; they were not wounded, but had burrowed in the underbrush like rabbits, waiting for the coming of the night. When they learned that he was familiar with the roads they communicated to him their plan, which was to traverse the woods under cover of the darkness and make their escape into Belgium. At first he declined to share their undertaking, for he would have preferred to proceed direct to Remilly, where he was certain to find a refuge, but where was he to obtain the blouse and trousers that he required as a disguise? to say nothing of the impracticability of getting past the numerous Prussian pickets and outposts that filled the valley all the way from la Garenne to Remilly. He therefore ended by consenting to act as guide to the two comrades. His leg was less stiff than it had been, and they were so fortunate as to secure a loaf of bread at a farmhouse. Nine o'clock was striking from the church of a village in the distance as they resumed their way. The only point where they encountered any danger worth mentioning was at la Chapelle, where they fell directly into the midst of a Prussian advanced post before they were aware of it; the enemy flew to arms and blazed away into the darkness, while they, throwing themselves on the ground and alternately crawling and running until the fire slackened, ultimately regained the shelter of the trees. After that they kept to the woods, observing the utmost vigilance. At a bend in the road, they crept up behind an out-lying picket and, leaping on his back, buried a knife in his throat. Then the road was free before them and they no longer had to observe precaution; they went ahead, laughing and whistling. It was about three in the morning when they reached a little Belgian village, where they knocked up a worthy farmer, who at once opened his barn to them; they snuggled among the hay and slept soundly until morning.
The sun was high in the heavens when Prosper awoke. As he opened his eyes and looked about him, while the two comrades were still snoring, he beheld their entertainer engaged in hitching a horse to a great carriole loaded with bread, rice, coffee, sugar, and all sorts of eatables, the whole concealed under sacks of charcoal, and a little questioning elicited from the good man the fact that he had two married daughters living at Raucourt, in France, whom the passage of the Bavarian troops had left entirely destitute, and that the provisions in the carriole were
