“Thank Heaven!” thought I; “it is we; it is our dear squadron that is to have the honour of attacking first.”  Every man pulled himself together.  Every man felt conscious of all the glory in store for us.  Every man prepared to perform exploits which, we felt sure, would astonish the rest of the regiment, of the army, and of France.  Forward!  Forward!  Forward!

The troops had already ridden past the Colonel at an easy gallop, and we suddenly found ourselves strangely isolated in that vast tract of country which, a few minutes before, we had passed over in a body.  There was a succession of yellow or green fields, with here and there some leafy thicket.  On our left, surrounded by orchards, rose the grey and massive buildings of the farm of Bel-Air.  In front of us, some few hundred yards off, there was a dark line of wood, the lower part of which was hidden from us by a slight rise in the ground.

Hardly had the first troop reached the top of the brow when some shots were fired at us.  We at once understood.  Again we were to be deprived of the pleasure of measuring ourselves with their Uhlans at close quarters.  We saw distinctly on the edge of the wood, kneeling and ready to fire, some fifty sharp-shooters in grey uniform and round caps without peaks.  We recognised them easily.

It was one of their cyclist detachments that had slipped into the wood and had been quietly waiting for us with rifles levelled.  As usual, their cavalry had retired under cover of their line.

What did it matter to us?  The wood was not thick enough to prevent our horses from getting through, and the temptation to let the fellows have a taste of our steel was too strong.  I rejoiced at the thought of seeing their heavy boots scuttle away through the trees.  I resolved to have a thrust at the skirts of their tunics, to help them on a bit.

The Captain understood the general feeling.  “Form up!” he cried.

In a twinkling a moving wall had been formed, to the music of merrily clinking stirrups and scabbards and jangling metal; and the gallop towards the wood began.

Just at that moment its skirts were outlined by a circle of fire, and a violent fusillade rang out.  Bullets whistled in all directions, and behind me I heard the heavy sound of men and horses falling on the hard ground.  In my troop a horse without a rider broke away and came galloping towards me.  What did it matter?  Forward!  Forward!

We were about 200 yards off.  We spurred our horses and got into our stride.

Suddenly a horrible fear took the place of the martial joy that had urged us to the fight.  We were all struck by the same discouragement, the same feeling of impotence, the same conviction of the uselessness of our sacrifice.  We had just realised that the edge of the wood was surrounded with wire, and that it was behind this impassable barrier that the Prussians were calmly firing at us as at a target.  What was to be done?  How could we get at them and avenge our fellows who had fallen?  For one second a feeling of horror and impotent rage passed, like a deep wave, over the squadron.  The bullets whistled past us.