What a dismal place! Under a canopy of dull clouds, the earth bare with
half-melted snow, with the low fort rising up before them as if in an
attitude of defence, here and there groups of ruined houses, a mill whose
tall chimney and walls had been half destroyed by shells, but where one
still read, in large black letters, these words, "Soap-maker to the
Nobility;" and through this desolated country was a long and muddy road
which led over to where the battle field lay, and in the midst of which,
presenting a symbol of death, lay the dead body of a horse.

In front of the National Guard, on the other side of the road,
a battalion, which had been strongly put to the test the night before,
were cooking. They had retreated as far as this to rest a little,
and had spent all that night without shelter under the falling snow.
Exhausted, bespattered, in rags, they were dolefully crouched around
their meagre green-wood fires; the poor creatures were to be pitied.
Underneath their misshapen caps they all showed yellow, wrinkled, and
unshaven faces. The bitter, cold wind that swept over the plain made
their thin shoulders, stooping from fatigue, shiver, and their shoulder-
blades protruded under their faded capes. Some of them were wounded,
too slightly to be sent away in the ambulance, and wore about their
wrists and foreheads bands of bloody linen. When an officer passed with
his head bent and a humiliated air, nobody saluted him. These men had
suffered too much, and one could divine an angry and insolent despair in
their gloomy looks, ready to burst out and tell of their injuries.
They would have disgusted one if they had not excited one's pity. Alas,
they were vanquished!

The Parisians were eager for news as to recent military operations, for
they had only read in the morning papers--as they always did during this