him by saying, "Come, come; it will be nothing.
Go on foot behind that wood, and get quietly under cover with
Lemaitre. I will soon come and join you."

And I went off with Vercherin, Finet, and Wattrelot. I tried to get
round to the right of Courgivault. But now that the first shots had
been fired we were not allowed to come nearer. As soon as we appeared
a violent fusillade burst from the outskirts of the village, which
forced us to beat a rapid retreat. There was no longer any doubt about
it; Courgivault was occupied, and occupied in strength.

Under the shelter of a bank I quickly dismounted, and Wattrelot took
my horse's bridle. Whilst I knelt on one knee and on the other wrote
my report for the Colonel, Vercherin and Finet, at an interval of 100
yards, kept a good look-out on the ridge for the enemy's movements. I
handed my message to Wattrelot:

"Take this to the Colonel, and quickly. I will wait here for the
brigade."

I then rode slowly to the corner of the wood, where Madelaine and
Lemaitre were posted, whilst Wattrelot went off at a trot across the
stubble. But a sad sight was awaiting me.

Lemaitre was standing in great grief over poor "Ramier," lying inert
on the ground and struggling feebly with death. His eyes were already
dull and his legs convulsed. Every now and then he shuddered
violently.

I looked at Lemaitre, who felt as if he were losing his best friend.
And, indeed, is not our horse our best friend when we are
campaigning--the friend that serves us well to the very last, that
saves us time and again from death, and carries us until he can carry
us no longer? I dismounted and threw the reins to Lemaitre:

"Don't grieve, my good fellow; it is a fine end for your 'Ramier.' He
might, like so many others, have died worn out with work or suffering
under some hedgerow. He has a soldier's death. All we can do is to cut
short his sufferings and send him quickly to rejoin his many good
comrades in the paradise of noble animals. For they have their
paradise, I am sure."

But Lemaitre hardly seemed convinced. He shook his head sadly, and
said:

"Oh, _mon Lieutenant_! I shall never be able to replace him. Such a
good animal! such a fine creature! He jumped so well.... And his coat
was always so beautiful; he was so sleek and so easy to keep.... No, I
shall never find another like him."

"Oh! yes, you will."

However, I must confess my hand trembled as I drew my revolver. One
horse the less in