ulties of the undertaking, the dangers she
would be subjected to, the little hope there was of recovering the
corpse; she did not even take the trouble to answer him, and he saw
clearly that unless he seconded her in her plan she would start out
alone and do some unwise thing, and this aspect of the case worried him
on account of the complications that might arise between him and the
Prussian authorities. He therefore finally decided to go and lay the
matter before the mayor of Remilly, who was a kind of distant cousin of
his, and they two between them concocted a story: Silvine was to pass
as the actual widow of Honore, Prosper became her brother, so that the
Bavarian colonel, who had his quarters in the Hotel of the Maltese Cross
down in the lower part of the village, made no difficulty about granting
a pass which authorized the brother and sister to bring home the body of
the husband, provided they could find it. By this time it was night; the
only concession that could be obtained from the young woman was that she
would delay starting on her expedition until morning.

When morning came old Fouchard could not be prevailed on to allow one
of his horses to be taken, fearing he might never set eyes on it again.
What assurance had he that the Prussians would not confiscate the entire
equipage? At last he consented, though with very bad grace, to loan her
the donkey, a little gray animal, and his cart, which, though small,
would be large enough to hold a dead man. He gave minute instructions
to Prosper, who had had a good night's sleep, but was anxious and
thoughtful at the prospect of the expedition now that, being rested and
refreshed, he attempted to remember something of the battle. At the last
moment Silvine went and took the counterpane from her own bed, folding
and spreading it on the floor of the cart. Just as she was about to
start she came running back to embrace Charlot.

"I entrust him to your care, Father Fouchard; keep an eye on him and see
that he doesn't get hold of the matches."

"Yes, yes; never fear!"

They were late in getting off; it was near seven o'clock when the little
procession, the donkey, hanging his head and drawing the narrow cart,
leading, descended the steep hill of Remilly. It had rained heavily
during the night, and the roads were become rivers of mud; great
lowering clouds hung in the heavens, imparting an air of cheerless
desolation to the scene.

Prosper, wishing to save all the d