“We have done nothing yet—­ Harness the horses.  Take these ropes.”

“They are not long enough.”

“Grenadier, turn over those sleepers, and take their shawls and linen, to eke out.”

“Tiens! that’s one dead,” said the grenadier, stripping the first man he came to.  “Bless me! what a joke, they are all dead!”

“All?”

“Yes, all; seems as if horse-meat must be indigestible if eaten with snow.”

The words made Philippe tremble.  The cold was increasing.

“My God! to lose the woman I have saved a dozen times!”

The major shook the countess.

“Stephanie!  Stephanie!”

The young woman opened her eyes.

“Madame! we are saved.”

“Saved!” she repeated, sinking down again.

The horses were harnessed as best they could.  The major, holding his sabre in his well hand, with his pistols in his belt, gathered up the reins with the other hand and mounted one horse while the grenadier mounted the other.  The orderly, whose feet were frozen, was thrown inside the carriage, across the general and the countess.  Excited by pricks from a sabre, the horses drew the carriage rapidly, with a sort of fury, to the plain, where innumerable obstacles awaited it.  It was impossible to force a way without danger of crushing the sleeping men, women, and even children, who refused to move when the grenadier awoke them.  In vain did Monsieur de Sucy endeavor to find the swathe cut by the rear-guard through the mass of human beings; it was already obliterated, like the wake of a vessel through the sea.  They could only creep along, being often stopped by soldiers who threatened to kill their horses.

“Do you want to reach the bridge?” said the grenadier.

“At the cost of my life—­at the cost of the whole world!”

“Then forward, march! you can’t make omelets without breaking eggs.”

And the grenadier of the guard urged the horses over men and bivouacs with bloody wheels and a double line of corpses on either side of them.  We must do him the justice to say that he never spared his breath in shouting in stentorian tones,—­

“Look out there, carrion!”

“Poor wretches!” cried the major.

“Pooh! that or the cold, that or the cannon,” said the grenadier, prodding the horses, and urging them on.

A catastrophe, which might well have happened to them much sooner, put a stop to their advance.  The carriage was overturned.

“I expected it,” cried the imperturbable grenadier.  “Ho! ho! your man is dead.”

“Poor Laurent!” said the major.

“Laurent?  Was he in the 5th chasseurs?”

“Yes.”

“Then he was my cousin.  Oh, well, this dog’s life isn’t happy enough to waste any joy in grieving for him.”

The carriage could not be raised; the horses were taken out with serious and, as it proved, irreparable loss of time.  The shock of the overturn was so violent that the young countess, roused from her lethargy, threw off her coverings and rose.