"I am looking for your commander to tell him, from General Eble, to
make for Zembin. You'll have barely enough time to get through that
crowd of men below. I am going presently to set fire to their camp and
force them to march."

"You warm me up--almost! That news makes me perspire. I have two
friends I MUST save. Ah! without those two to cling to me, I should be
dead already. It is for them that I feed my horse and don't eat
myself. Have you any food,--a mere crust? It is thirty hours since
anything has gone into my stomach, and yet I have fought like a madman
--just to keep a little warmth and courage in me."

"Poor Philippe, I have nothing--nothing! But where's your general,--in
this house?"

"No, don't go there; the place is full of wounded. Go up the street;
you'll find on your left a sort of pig-pen; the general is there.
Good-bye, old fellow. If we ever dance a trenis on a Paris floor--"

He did not end his sentence; the north wind blew at that moment with
such ferocity that the aide-de-camp hurried on to escape being frozen,
and the lips of Major de Sucy stiffened. Silence reigned, broken only
by the moans which came from the house, and the dull sound made by the
major's horse as it chewed in a fury of hunger the icy bark of the
trees with which the house was built. Monsieur de Sucy replaced his
sabre in its scabbard, took the bridle of the precious horse he had
hitherto been able to preserve, and led it, in spite of the animal's
resistance, from the wretched fodder it appeared to think excellent.