My friend saw it, and hit him in a Frenchman's most assailable quarter.

"The ladies, my good man--the ladies!--You would not have them drive in
pell--mell with the troops, exposed most likely to the fire of the
Prussian advanced--guard, would you?"

The man grounded his musket, and touched his cap--"Pass on." Away we
trundled, until, coming to a cross--road, we turned down towards the
river; and at the angle we could see thick wreaths of smoke curling up
into theair, showing that the barbarous order had been but too effectually
fulfilled.

"What is that?" said-----.

A horse, with his rider entangled and dragged by the stirrup, passed us at
full speed, leaving a long track of blood on the road.

"Who is that?"

The coachman drove on, and gave no answer; until, at a sharp turn, we came
upon the bruised and now breathless body of the young officer, who had so
recently obeyed the savage behests of his brutal commander. There was a
musket--shot right in the middle of his fine forehead, like a small blue
point, with one or two heavy black drops of blood oozing from it. His pale
features wore a mild and placid expression, evincing that the numberless
lacerations and bruises, which were evident through his tom uniform, had
been inflicted on a breathless corpse.

The stuhl wagen had carried on for a mile farther or so, but the firing
seemed to approximate, whereupon our host sung out, "Fahrt Zu,