out of it by raiders. The door swung idly on its hinges.
The two Russians were forced to enter the hut. They were bound with
ropes, of which there happened to be some hanging from a nail, the door
was closed, huge sticks from a surrounding fence were driven into the
ground against it, so that it could not be opened from the inside, and
the men were left to their own devices.

As neither Frenchman spoke Russian, and as the Russians understood
neither French nor Prussian, conversation was impossible. Everything
had to be done by signs.

"I wouldn't give much for their chance, shut up in that house in this
wood," said the grenadier, as the two walked away.

"Nor I," answered Marteau. "But at least we haven't killed them."

The two Frenchmen now presented a very different appearance. Before
they left the hut they had taken off their own great coats, the
bearskin shako of the grenadier, and the high, flat-topped,
bell-crowned cap of the line regiment of the officer. In place of
these they wore the flat Russian caps and the long Russian overcoats.
Bal-Arret might serve for a passable Russian, but no one could mistake
Marteau for anything but a Frenchman. Still, it had to be chanced.

The two retraced their steps and came to the ravine, where the dead
Russian lay. They had no interest in him, save the grenadier's desire
to get his knife back. It had served him well, it might be useful
again. But they had a great interest in the pig. Their exhausted
horses were now useless, and they had thought they would have to kill
one to get something to eat. But the pig, albeit he was a lean one,
was a treasure indeed. To advance upon the Russian line in broad
daylight would have been madness. Darkness was their only hope.
Reaching down into the ravine, the grenadier hoisted the body of the
poor pig to his comrade, and the two of them lugged it back far in the
woods where it was safe to kindle a fire. With flint and steel and
tinder, they soon had a blaze going in the sequestered hollow they had
chosen, and the smell of savory roast presently delighted their fancy.
They ate their fill for the first time in weeks be it remarked. If
they only had a bottle of the famous wine of the country to wash it
down they would have feasted like kings.

"So far," said the grenadier, when he could eat no more, "our
expedition has been successful. If those youngsters down at Nogent
could only smell this pig there would be no holding