Through the thick veils of irresistible sleep, the major soon saw the husband and wife as mere points or formless objects.  The flames of the fire, those outstretched figures, the relentless cold, waiting, not three feet distant from that fugitive heat, became all a dream.  One importunate thought terrified Philippe: 

“If I sleep, we shall all die; I will not sleep,” he said to himself.

And yet he slept.

A terrible clamor and an explosion awoke him an hour later.  The sense of his duty, the peril of his friend, fell suddenly on his heart.  He uttered a cry that was like a roar.  He and his orderly were alone afoot.  A sea of fire lay before them in the darkness of the night, licking up the cabins and the bivouacs; cries of despair, howls, and imprecations reached their ears; they saw against the flames thousands of human beings with agonized or furious faces.  In the midst of that hell, a column of soldiers was forcing its way to the bridge, between two hedges of dead bodies.

“It is the retreat of the rear-guard!” cried the major.  “All hope is gone!”

“I have saved your carriage, Philippe,” said a friendly voice.

Turning round, de Sucy recognized the young aide-de-camp in the flaring of the flames.

“Ah! all is lost!” replied the major, “they have eaten my horse; and how can I make this stupid general and his wife walk?”

“Take a brand from the fire and threaten them.”

“Threaten the countess!”

“Good-bye,” said the aide-de-camp, “I have scarcely time to get across that fatal river—­and I must; I have a mother in France.  What a night!  These poor wretches prefer to lie here in the snow; half will allow themselves to perish in those flames rather than rise and move on.  It is four o’clock, Philippe!  In two hours the Russians will begin to move.  I assure you you will again see the Beresina choked with corpses.  Philippe! think of yourself!  You have no horses, you cannot carry the countess in your arms.  Come—­come with me!” he said urgently, pulling de Sucy by the arm.

“My friend! abandon Stephanie!”

De Sucy seized the countess, made her stand upright, shook her with the roughness of a despairing man, and compelled her to wake up.  She looked at him with fixed, dead eyes.

“You must walk, Stephanie, or we shall all die here.”

For all answer the countess tried to drop again upon the snow and sleep.  The aide-de-camp seized a brand from the fire and waved it in her face.

“We will save her in spite of herself!” cried Philippe, lifting the countess and placing her in the carriage.

He returned to implore the help of his friend.  Together they lifted the old general, without knowing whether he were dead or alive, and put him beside his wife.  The major then rolled over the men who were sleeping on his blankets, which he tossed into the carriage, together with some roasted fragments of his mare.