“I believe our rear-guard and the Russians are fighting it out, and we are near enough to come in for a stray shot or two.”
“Then help me to turn this carriage over, that we may make a shelter for the lady.”
This was accomplished, not without some difficulty. Anxious hours of suspense and forced inactivity followed. Night fell, but an awful light still illumined the landscape. What looked like a semicircle of flame environed half the sky. It was the fiery breath of the Russian cannon.
Suddenly there came a sound of fearful shrieks, and a frantic swaying and tossing of the crowd. One of the bridges—that constructed for the artillery—had broken down, precipitating its living freight into the freezing waters beneath; and the miserable multitude on the bank, who were suffering more and more from the cannonade of the enemy, now rushed forward in blind terror to gain the only remaining bridge.
Henri lost sight of Madame Leone and the baby in the press, and it was with difficulty that he saved little Guido from being trodden under foot, by holding him continually in his arms.
Féron kept by his side throughout. At last, however, he cried aloud suddenly, “Comrade, I am done for! That bullet—”
Henri saw it was too true. In great distress he knelt down beside him and tried to stanch the blood that was flowing from his breast.
Almost at the same moment a company of the rear-guard came thundering by, forcing their way through the living mass, and cutting down without remorse or pity all who obstructed their retreat.
“Time to go now,” said Féron with an effort. “Monsieur Henri, don’t stay for me. I thought I would have brought home news of you; now you—but go, I entreat of you, go at once. No time to lose.”
“Never, while you breathe. Besides, as you said, the Emperor will not leave a Frenchman behind him.” Recollecting that Madame Leone had filled with wine the flask Féron himself had left with him, he mixed some of its contents with snow-water, and put the reviving draught to the lips of his comrade.