away, where the staff had taken up their quarters for the night. No
one could say whether the general commanding the 7th corps was there
or not; he was in deep affliction on account of the death of his
brother, slain in the action at Wissembourg. The brigadier, however,
Bourgain-Desfeuilles, in whose command the 106th was, was certain to
be there, brawling as loud as ever, and trundling his fat body about
on his short, pudgy legs, with his red nose and rubicund face,
vouchers for the good dinners he had eaten, and not likely ever to
become top-heavy by reason of excessive weight in his upper story.
There was a stir and movement about the farmhouse that seemed to be
momentarily increasing; couriers and orderlies were arriving and
departing every minute; they were awaiting there, with feverish
anxiety of impatience, the belated dispatches which should advise them
of the result of the battle that everyone, all that long August day,
had felt to be imminent. Where had it been fought? what had been the
issue? As night closed in and darkness shrouded the scene, a
foreboding sense of calamity seemed to settle down upon the orchard,
upon the scattered stacks of grain about the stables, and spread, and
envelop them in waves of inky blackness. It was said, also, that a
Prussian spy had been caught roaming about the camp, and that he had
been taken to the house to be examined by the general. Perhaps Colonel
de Vineuil had received a telegram of some kind, that he was in such
great haste.

Meantime Maurice had resumed his conversation with his brother-in-law
Weiss and his cousin Honore Fouchard, the quartermaster-sergeant.
Retreat, commencing in the remote distance, then gradually swelling in
volume as it drew near with its blare and rattle, reached them, passed
them, and died away in the solemn stillness of the twilight; they
seemed to be quite unconscious of it. The young man was grandson