suddenly saw to the right of
me "Ramier," Lemaitre's horse, fall like a log. As I was trying to
stop my mare, who showed an immoderate desire to put herself out of
danger, I saw both horse and rider struggling for a moment on the
ground, forming a confused mixture of hoofs in the air and waving
arms. Then "Ramier" got up and set off alone, neighing sadly, and with
a limping trot that did not look very promising.

But Lemaitre was already on his legs, putting his crushed shako
straight on his head. A bit stunned, he seemed to collect his ideas
for an instant, and then I saw his good-natured ruddy face turned
towards me. It lit up with a broad grin.

"Any damage, old fellow?" I asked.

"Nothing broken, sir."

"Hurry up, then."

And there was Lemaitre, striding along with his short legs and heavy
boots, jumping ditches and banks with a nimbleness of which I declare
I should not have thought him capable. It is curious to note the
agility the report of a rifle volley lends to the legs of a dismounted
trooper. Lemaitre came in to the shelter in the valley as soon as I
did; and almost at the same time Finet, the sapper, brought in his old
road-companion "Ramier," which he had been able to catch. It was
painful to see the poor animal; his lameness had already become more
marked. He could only get along with great difficulty, and his eyes
showed he was in pain.

I glanced hurriedly at the spot where the bullet had struck him. The
small hole could hardly be seen against the brown skin, just at the
point of the left buttock.

"Just wait here for us; I shall be back in a moment."

I wanted to see if to the east of the village I could note anything
interesting, and I turned round towards my other troopers, whose
horses were panting behind us. I was horrified to see Corporal
Madelaine's face streaming with blood.

"It is nothing, sir ...; it passed in front of my nose."

He wiped his face with the back of his hand. It had indeed been grazed
by a bullet. One half-inch more, and the good fellow's nose would have
been carried off. Fortunately the skin was hardly broken. Madelaine
went on:

"It's nothing; ... but my mare...."

He had dismounted, and with a look of distress showed me his horse's
blood-stained thigh. "Attraction" was the name of his pretty and
delicate little grey mare, which he loved and cared for passionately.
A bullet had pierced her thigh right through, and the blood had flowed
down her leg. I calmed