"Yes, if you don't leave your bones up yonder.--If I come to grief,
promise me, you two, that you will do everything in your power to save
the Countess."

"All right," said the grenadier.

They set out for the Russian lines, taking the direction of the
batteries that had so cruelly raked the mass of miserable creatures
huddled together by the river bank. A few minutes later the hoofs of
two galloping horses rang on the frozen snow, and the awakened battery
fired a volley that passed over the heads of the sleepers; the
hoof-beats rattled so fast on the iron ground that they sounded like
the hammering in a smithy. The generous aide-de-camp had fallen; the
stalwart grenadier had come off safe and sound; and Philip himself
received a bayonet thrust in the shoulder while defending his friend.
Notwithstanding his wound, he clung to his horse's mane, and gripped
him with his knees so tightly that the animal was held as in a vise.

"God be praised!" cried the major, when he saw his soldier still on
the spot, and the carriage standing where he had left it.

"If you do the right thing by me, sir, you will get me the cross for
this. We have treated them to a sword dance to a pretty tune from the
rifle, eh?"

"We have done nothing yet! Let us put the horses in. Take hold of
these cords."

"They are not long enough."