"We are done for!" he said.

"I know it," said the grenadier, "but I don't care."

"Well, death for death, wouldn't you rather sell your life for a
pretty woman, and take your chances of seeing France?"

"I'd rather sleep," said a man, rolling over on the snow, "and if you
trouble me again, I'll stick my bayonet into your stomach."

"What is the business, my colonel?" said the grenadier. "That man is
drunk; he's a Parisian; he likes his ease."

"That is yours, my brave grenadier," cried the major, offering him a
string of diamonds, "if you will follow me and fight like a madman.
The Russians are ten minutes' march from here; they have horses; we
are going up to their first battery for a pair."

"But the sentinels?"

"One of us three--" he interrupted himself, and turned to the
aide-de-camp. "You will come, Hippolyte, won't you?"

Hippolyte nodded.

"One of us," continued the major, "will take care of the sentinel.
Besides, perhaps they are asleep too, those cursed Russians."

"Forward! major, you're a brave one! But you'll give me a lift on your
carriage?" said the grenadier.