devoted friend could trace no sign of anything feminine in that mass
of rags and tatters. Love had succumbed to cold in the heart of a
woman!

Through the thick veils of irresistible sleep, the major soon saw the
husband and wife as mere points or formless objects. The flames of the
fire, those outstretched figures, the relentless cold, waiting, not
three feet distant from that fugitive heat, became all a dream. One
importunate thought terrified Philippe:

"If I sleep, we shall all die; I will not sleep," he said to himself.

And yet he slept.

A terrible clamor and an explosion awoke him an hour later. The sense
of his duty, the peril of his friend, fell suddenly on his heart. He
uttered a cry that was like a roar. He and his orderly were alone
afoot. A sea of fire lay before them in the darkness of the night,
licking up the cabins and the bivouacs; cries of despair, howls, and
imprecations reached their ears; they saw against the flames thousands
of human beings with agonized or furious faces. In the midst of that
hell, a column of soldiers was forcing its way to the bridge, between
two hedges of dead bodies.

"It is the retreat of the rear-guard!" cried the major. "All hope is
gone!"

"I have saved your carriage, Philippe," said a friendly voice.

Turning round, de Sucy recognized the young aide-de-camp in the