desolate island. He first skirted the Tour a Glaire, a very
handsome country-place, whose small park, situated as it was on the bank
of the Meuse, possessed a peculiarly attractive charm. After that the
road ran parallel with the river, of which the sluggish current flowed
on the right hand at the foot of high, steep banks. The way from there
was a gradually ascending one, until it wound around the gentle eminence
that occupied the central portion of the peninsula, and there were
abandoned quarries there and excavations in the ground, in which a
network of narrow paths had their termination. A little further on was
a mill, seated on the border of the stream. Then the road curved and
pursued a descending course until it entered the village of Iges, which
was built on the hillside and connected by a ferry with the further
shore, just opposite the rope-walk at Saint-Albert. Last of all came
meadows and cultivated fields, a broad expanse of level, treeless
country, around which the river swept in a wide, circling bend. In vain
had Maurice scrutinized every inch of uneven ground on the hillside; all
he could distinguish there was cavalry and artillery, preparing their
quarters for the night. He made further inquiries, applying among others
to a corporal of chasseurs d'Afrique, who could give him no information.
The prospect for finding his regiment looked bad; night was coming down,
and, leg-weary and disheartened, he seated himself for a moment on a
stone by the wayside.

As he sat there, abandoning himself to the sensation of loneliness and
despair that crept over him, he beheld before him, across the Meuse,
the accursed fields where he had fought the day but one before. Bitter
memories rose to his mind, in the fading light of that day of gloom and
rain, as he surveyed the saturated, miry expanse of country that
rose from the river's bank and was lost on the horizon. The defile of
Saint-Albert, the narrow road by which the Prussians had gained their
rear, ran along the bend of the stream as far as the white cliffs of
the quarries of Montimont. The summits of the trees in the wood of
la Falizette rose in rounded, fleecy masses over the rising ground
of Seugnon. Directly before his eyes, a little to the left, was
Saint-Menges, the road from which descended by a gentle slope and ended
at the ferry; there, too, were the mamelon of Hattoy in the center,
and Illy, in the far distance, in the background, and Fleigneux, almost
hid