In front was a bleak, flat waste that seemed almost dead level, with
here and there the dark shimmering of stagnant pools. Seemingly far off
on the right, amid a small cluster of scattered lights, rose a dark mass
of Fort Montrouge, and away to the left in the dim distance, pointed
with stray gleams from cottage windows, the lights in the sky showed the
locality of Bicêtre. A moment's thought decided me to take to the right
and try to reach Montrouge. There at least would be some sort of safety,
and I might possibly long before come on some of the cross roads which I
knew. Somewhere, not far off, must lie the strategic road made to
connect the outlying chain of forts circling the city.

Then I looked back. Coming over the mounds, and outlined black against
the glare of the Parisian horizon, I saw several moving figures, and
still a way to the right several more deploying out between me and my
destination. They evidently meant to cut me off in this direction, and
so my choice became constricted; it lay now between going straight ahead
or turning to the left. Stooping to the ground, so as to get the
advantage of the horizon as a line of sight, I looked carefully in this
direction, but could detect no sign of my enemies. I argued that as they
had not guarded or were not trying to guard that point, there was
evidently danger to me there already. So I made up my mind to go
straight on before me.

It was not an inviting prospect, and as I went on the reality grew
worse. The ground became soft and oozy, and now and again gave way
beneath me in a sickening kind of way. I seemed somehow to be going
down, for I saw round me places seemingly more elevated than where I
was, and this in a place which from a little way back seemed dead level.
I looked around, but could see none of my pursuers. This was strange,