I related to him a part of what had happened to me since the Cossacks' attack, of which he knew nothing.
We resumed our march. I saw that my new comrade was an old Chasseur of the Guard, and that he carried on his knapsack and around his neck a pair of cloth trousers that apparently were of no use to him, but could be of the greatest benefit to me. I begged him to let me buy them of him, and showed him the naked state of my legs.
'My poor comrade!' he said, 'I would willingly oblige you if I could, but I must tell you that the trousers are burnt in several places, and are full of great holes.'
'Never mind that; let me have them. They may perhaps save my life.'
He pulled them off his knapsack, saying: 'Take them.'
Then I took two five-franc pieces from my bag, asking him if it was enough.
'Quite,' he answered. 'Make haste and let us be off, for I see two men on horseback coming down this way. They may be Cossack scouts.'
While he was speaking I had put on the trousers—I kept them in place as I had the former ones, with the shawl wrapped round my body—and we set off. We hadn't taken a hundred steps before my companion, who walked faster than I did, was already twenty yards in front of me. I saw him stoop and pick something up. At first I couldn't distinguish what it was, but coming to the spot, I saw a dead man, and recognised him as a Grenadier of the Royal Dutch Guard that, from the beginning of the campaign, had formed part of the Imperial Guard. He had neither knapsack nor bearskin, but he still had his musket, cartridge-pouch, sabre, and great black gaiters on his legs, reaching above the knee. I took the gaiters and put them over my trousers to cover the holes. Then I set off walking again, rather faster than usual, as if the dead man were running after me.