“Bah, they’re in retreat on Brussels, and will probably capitulate to-morrow.”
“Capitulate!”
“Oui, oui; ne vous fâchez pas, camarade,” said he, laughing. “What could you do against Napoleon? You did not expect to beat him, surely? But come, we must move on; I have my orders to bring you to Planchenoit this evening, and our horses are tired enough already.”
“Mine, methinks, should be fresh,” said I.
“Parbleu, mon!” replied he; “he has twice made the journey to Fresnes this morning with despatches for Marshal Ney; the Emperor is enraged with the marshal for having retreated last night, having the wood in his possession; he says he should have waited till daybreak, and then fallen upon your retreating columns. As it is, you are getting away without much loss. Sacristie, that was a fine charge!” These last words he muttered to himself, adding, between his teeth, “Sixty-four killed and wounded.”
“What was that? Who were they?” said I.
“Our fellows,” replied he, frankly; “the Emperor ordered up two twelve-pounders, and eight squadrons of lancers; they fell upon your light dragoons in a narrow part of the high road. But suddenly we heard a noise in front; your hussars fell back, and a column of your heavy dragoons came thundering down upon us. Parbleu! they swept over us as if we were broken infantry; and there! there!” said he, pointing to the courtyard, from whence the groans of the wounded still rose,—“there are the fruits of that terrible charge.”
I could not restrain an outbreak of triumphant pleasure at this gallant feat of my countrymen.
“Yes, yes,” said the honest quartermaster; “it was a fine thing; but a heavy reckoning is at hand. But come, now, let us take the road.”
In a few moments more I found myself seated upon a heavy Norman horse, whose lumbering demi-peak saddle was nearly cleft in two by a sabre-cut.