g, and wrapped it round the
child's arms and legs, binding it there with strips of the velvet
covering the cushions. Then he took off his cloak, and raised her on to
his back, having first cut off one of the reins. With this he strapped
her securely in that position, put on his warm cloak again, and then,
hurrying forward, soon overtook the rear of his regiment.

"Bravo, Jules!" many of his comrades said, as he passed along the
column; while others asked, "Why do you encumber yourself with that
child? It is enough now for every man to look to himself, and you cannot
carry her far."

"I will do what I can," he replied. "She is not so heavy as my knapsack
when it is full, and it is empty now; I am only keeping it because it is
useful as a pillow. I can't say how far I can carry her, but as long as
I can go she shall. We have taken lives enough, heaven knows. It is as
well to save one if one gets the opportunity."

In half an hour Julian felt a movement on the part of his little burden,
whose hands he had been chafing with his own unoccupied one. Presently
something was said in Russian. He did not reply, and then there was a
little struggle, and the voice said in French: "Nurse, where am I? Where
are you taking me? Where is the carriage?"

"Do not fret, little one," Julian replied in the same language. "I am a
friend, and will take care of you. Your carriage broke down, and so I am
carrying you until we can get you another. Are you warm?"

"Yes," the child said. "I am quite warm, but I want my nurse."

"Nurse can't come to you now, my dear; but I will try to be a good nurse
to you."

"I want to see what you are like."

"You shall see presently," he said. "It would be very cold if you were
to put your head outside. The best thing that you can do is to try to
get to sleep."

The warmth doubtless did more than Julian's exhortation, for the child
said no more, and Julian felt certain after a short time that she had
gone off to sleep. He was now in his place with his company again, and
joined in the song that they were singing, softly at first, but, as he
felt no movement, louder and louder until, as usual, his voice rose high
above the chorus. Nevertheless, his thoughts were with the child. What
was he to do with her? how was she to be fed? He could only hope for the
best. So far Providence had assuredly made him the means of preserving
her life, and to Providence he must leave the rest. It might be all for
the best