t; Paquin, a good little fellow, energetic
and well disciplined, whose good humour I found especially attractive
both under fire and in camp. But he would come in, no doubt. Cahard,
his bed-fellow, told me that his horse had stumbled and thrown him. He
thought he had even seen him get up again directly the charge had
passed.

"_Mon Lieutenant, ... mon Lieutenant_, your horse is wounded."

I had dismounted in a moment, and tears came to my eyes. I had
forgotten the anger and impatience that "Tourne-Toujours'" savage
temper had so often caused me. What had they done to my brave and
noble companion-in-arms? A bullet had struck him inside the left thigh
and, penetrating it, had made a horrible wound, as large as my hand,
from which the blood was streaming all down his leg. Two other bullets
had hit him, one in the flank, the other in the loins, leaving two
small red holes. The noble animal had brought me back safely, and
then, as he stood still on his four trembling legs, his neck raised,
his nostrils dilated, his ears pricked, he fixed his eyes on the
distance and seemed to look approaching death in the face. Poor
'Tourne-Toujours,' you could not divine the pain I felt as I patted
you, as gently as I should touch a little suffering child!

But I had to shake off the sadness that wrung my heart. The day was
gradually sinking, and Paquin had not come in. Two of the men quickly
put my saddle on the horse of one of the wounded troopers. Whilst
Surgeon-Major P., in the growing dusk, attended to the seriously
wounded men stretched on the grass, I made up my mind to go out and
see whether my little Chasseur was not still lying out on the scene of
the charge.

"Cahard, Finet, Mouniette, Vallee, I want you."

At a gentle trot we sallied out from the cover of the wood. My four
men, dispersed at wide intervals to my right and left, stood up in
their stirrups from time to time to get a better view.

The guns were silent. Now and again one or two isolated shots were
heard. Night had almost fallen. On the horizon a long reddish streak
of light still gave a feeble glow. Everything was becoming blurred and
mysterious. In front of us stretched the disquieting mass of the wood
that so lately had rained death on us. Above our heads flocks of black
birds were wheeling and croaking.

"Paquin!... Paquin!... Paquin!..."

My Chasseurs shouted their comrade's name; but no voice answered. We
were certainly on the ground the squadron had r