But we had to come to the point. At a sign from me Vercherin reached
the first tree of a long row of poplars. The row started from the farm
and bordered the road we were following up to about 100 yards from
the outer wall. By slipping along from one tree to another he would be
able to get near in comparative safety. Suddenly I saw him stop
quickly and, standing up in his stirrups, look straight ahead towards
the stacks.

There was no need for him to make any sign to me. I understood that he
saw something, and I galloped up to him at once. He was as calm as
usual, only his blue eyes were a little more dilated, and he spoke
more rapidly, with an accent I had not heard before.

"_Mon Lieutenant_, ... there behind that stack, it seemed to me ... I
thought I saw a head rise above the grass...."

I looked in the direction he pointed to with his carbine, which he
held at arm's length. I saw nothing but the silent and peaceful
village; I had the same impression of a hateful and depressing void.
And, strange to say, our two horses, whose reins had been hanging
loose on their necks, appeared to be suddenly seized with a
simultaneous terror, and both at once turned right round. I managed
to bring mine back by applying the spur, and while Vercherin, who was
carried further, came back slowly, I used my glasses again, to make a
closer inspection of all the points of the village.

Then, at the very moment that I was putting the glasses to my eyes, I
saw, at less than 100 yards distance, a whole line of sharpshooters,
dressed in grey, rise quickly in front of me. For one short moment a
terrible pang shot through us. How many were there? Perhaps 300. And