to those noble men who stood in the water, the icy water of Beresina,
to destroy the buttresses of the bridges. One alone of those heroes
still lives--or, to speak more correctly, suffers--in a village,
totally ignored.

The aide-de-camp started. Hardly had this generous officer gone a
hundred yards towards Studzianka than General Eble wakened a number of
his weary pontoniers, and began the work,--the charitable work of
burning the bivouacs set up about the bridge, and forcing the
sleepers, thus dislodged, to cross the river.

Meanwhile the young aide-de-camp reached, not without difficulty, the
only wooden house still left standing in Studzianka.

"This barrack seems pretty full, comrade," he said to a man whom he
saw by the doorway.

"If you can get in you'll be a clever trooper," replied the officer,
without turning his head or ceasing to slice off with his sabre the
bark of the logs of which the house was built.

"Is that you, Philippe?" said the aide-de-camp, recognizing a friend
by the tones of his voice.

"Yes. Ha, ha! is it you, old fellow?" replied Monsieur de Sucy,
looking at the aide-de-camp, who, like himself, was only twenty-three
years of age. "I thought you were the other side of that cursed river.
What are you here for? Have you brought cakes and wine for our
dessert? You'll be welcome," and he went on slicing off the bark,
which he gave as a sort of provender to his horse.