upon a hideous plain at the east of Paris.

Truly this National Guard did not make a bad appearance. They were a
trifle awkward, perhaps, in their dark-blue hooded cloaks, with their
tin-plate buttons, and armed with breech-loading rifles, and encumbered
with canteens, basins, and pouches, all having an unprepared and too-new
look. They all came from the best parts of the city, with accelerated
steps and a loud beating of drums, and headed, if you please, by their
major on horseback, a truss-maker, who had formerly been quartermaster
of the third hussars. Certainly they only asked for service; it was not
their fault, after all, if one had not confidence in them, and if they
were not sent to the front as soon as they reached the fortifications.
While crossing the drawbridge they had sung the Marseillaise like men
ready to be shot down. What spoiled their martial appearance, perhaps,
were their strong hunting-boots, their leather leggings, knit gloves,
and long gaiters; lastly, that comfortable air of people who have
brought with them a few dainties, such as a little bread with something
eatable between, some tablets of chocolate, tobacco, and a phial filled
with old rum. They had not gone two kilometres outside the ramparts, and
were near the fort, where for the time being the artillery was silent,
when a staff officer who was awaiting them upon an old hack of a horse,
merely skin and bones, stopped them by a gesture of the hand, and said
sharply to their major to take position on the left of the road, in
an open field. They then stacked their arms there and broke ranks, and
rested until further orders.

What a dismal place! Under a canopy of dull clouds, the earth bare with
half-melted snow, with the low fort rising up before them as if in an
attitude of defence, here and there groups of ruined houses, a mill
whose tall chimney and walls had been half destroyed by shells, but
where one still read, in large black letters, these words, "Soap-maker
to the Nobility;" and through this desolated country was a long and
muddy road which led over to where the battle field lay, and in the
midst of which, presenting a symbol of death, lay the dead body of a
horse.

In front of the National Guard, on the other side of the road, a
battalion, which had been strongly put to the test the night before,
were cooking. They had retreated as far as this to rest a little,
and had spent all that night without shelter under the falling snow.