owling, without a moment's intermission. A little way beyond
another man was actually being slowly roasted; his clothing had taken
fire and the flames had run up and caught his beard, while he, paralyzed
by a shot that had broken his back, was silently weeping scalding tears.
Then there was a captain, who, one arm torn from its socket and his
flank laid open to the thigh, was writhing on the ground in agony
unspeakable, beseeching, in heartrending accents, the by-passers to end
his suffering. There were others, and others, and others still, whose
torments may not be described, strewing the grass-grown paths in such
numbers that the utmost caution was required to avoid treading them
under foot. But the dead and wounded had ceased to count; the comrade
who fell by the way was abandoned to his fate, forgotten as if he had
never been. No one turned to look behind. It was his destiny, poor
devil! Next it would be someone else, themselves, perhaps.

They were approaching the edge of the wood when a cry of distress was
heard behind them.

"Help! help!"

It was the subaltern standard-bearer, who had been shot through the left
lung. He had fallen, the blood pouring in a stream from his mouth, and
as no one heeded his appeal he collected his fast ebbing strength for
another effort:

"To the colors!"

Rochas turned and in a single bound was at his side. He took the flag,
the staff of which had been broken in the fall, while the young officer
murmured in words that were choked by the bubbling tide of blood and
froth:

"Never mind me; I am a goner. Save the flag!"

And they left him to himself in that charming woodland glade to writhe
in protracted agony upon the ground, tearing up the grass with his
stiffening fingers and praying for death, which would be hours yet ere
it came to end his misery.

At last they had left the wood and its horrors behind them. Beside
Maurice and Jean all that were left of the little band were Lieutenant
Rochas, Lapoulle and Pache. Gaude, who had strayed away from his
companions, presently came running from a thicket to rejoin them, his
bugle hanging from his neck and thumping against his back with every
step he took. It was a great comfort to them all to find themselves once
again in the open country, where they could draw their breath; and then,
too, there were no longer any whistling bullets and crashing shells to
harass them; the firing had ceased on this side of the valley.

The first ob