One instant I was secure on the swiftest, most graceful horse in
Massena's army. The next he lay upon his side, worth only the
price of his hide, and I stood there that most helpless, most
ungainly of creatures, a dismounted Hussar. What could I do with
my boots, my spurs, my trailing sabre? I was far inside the
enemy's lines. How could I hope to get back again?

I am not ashamed to say that I, Etienne Gerard, sat upon my dead
horse and sank my face in my hands in my despair.

Already the first streaks were whitening the east.

In half an hour it would be light. That I should have won my way
past every obstacle and then at this last instant be left at the
mercy of my enemies, my mission ruined, and myself a
prisoner--was it not enough to break a soldier's heart?

But courage, my friends! We have these moments of weakness, the
bravest of us; but I have a spirit like a slip of steel, for the
more you bend it the higher it springs.

One spasm of despair, and then a brain of ice and a heart of
fire. All was not yet lost. I who had come through so many
hazards would come through this one also. I rose from my horse
and considered what had best be done.

And first of all it was certain that I could not get back. Long
before I could pass the lines it would be broad daylight. I must
hide myself for the day, and then devote the next night to my
escape. I took the saddle, holsters, and bridle from poor