r, we were
walking rather slowly, as we were afraid of an ambush, when suddenly we
heard Piedelot's well-known voice. It had a strange sound, however; for
it was at the same time--dull and vibrating, stifled and clear, as if he
were calling out as loud as he could with a bit of rag stuffed into his
mouth. He seemed to be hoarse and gasping, and the unlucky fellow kept
exclaiming: "Help! Help!"

We sent all thoughts of prudence to the devil, and in two bounds we were
at the back of the inn, where a terrible sight met our eyes.

IV

Piedelot was being burned alive. He was writhing in the midst of a heap
of fagots, tied to a stake, and the flames were licking him with their
burning tongues. When he saw us, his tongue seemed to stick in his
throat; he drooped his head, and seemed as if he were going to die. It
was only the affair of a moment to upset the burning pile, to scatter
the embers, and to cut the ropes that fastened him.

Poor fellow! In what a terrible state we found him. The evening before
he had had his left arm broken, and it seemed as if he had been badly
beaten since then, for his whole body was covered with wounds, bruises
and blood. The flames had also begun their work on him, and he had two
large burns, one on his loins and the other on his right thigh, and his
beard and hair were scorched. Poor Piedelot!

No one knows the terrible rage we felt at this sight! We would have
rushed headlong at a hundred thousand Prussians; our thirst for
vengeance was intense. But the cowards had run away, leaving their
crime behind them. Where could we find them now? Meanwhile, however, the
captain's wife was looking after Piedelot, and dressing his wounds
as best she could, while the captain himself shook hands with him
excitedly, and in a few minutes he came to himself.

"Good-morning, captain; good-morning, all of you," he said. "Ah! the
scoundrels, the wretches! Why, twenty of them came to surprise us."

"Twenty, do you say?"

"Yes; there was a whole band of them, and that is why I disobeyed
orders, captain, and fired on them, for they would have killed you all,
and I preferred to stop them. That frightened them, and they did not
venture to go farther than the crossroads. They were such cowards. Four
of them shot at me at twenty yards, as if I had been a target, and then
they slashed me with their swords. My arm was broken, so that I could
only use my bayonet with one hand."

"But why did you not call for