Little by little a mad hope, a delirious joy was gaining upon her. 'Suppose you were mistaken. What if he should be alive? And of course he must be alive since he's not here.'
But, all at once, she groaned aloud. Turning round, she had found herself on the very spot where the battery had been established. The scene was a frightful one, the ground cut up and rent as by an earthquake, with wreckage lying all around, and corpses thrown upon their stomachs, their backs, their sides, in horrifying postures; their arms twisted, their legs doubled under them, their heads askew, their white teeth showing in their mouths, which howling had distended. A corporal had expired with both hands pressed upon his eyelids in a paroxysm of fright, as though to shut out all view of what was happening. Some gold coins, which a lieutenant had carried in a belt about his body, had fallen from it, oozing forth with his blood, and lay scattered among his bowels. The two chums, Adolphe the driver, and Louis the gun-layer, with their eyes protruding from their sockets, were still clasped in a fierce embrace, one atop of the other, coupled even in death. And at last there was Honoré, lying upon his crippled gun as on a bed of honour, struck both in the flank and the shoulder, but with his face unscathed and handsome with its expression of anger, whilst his eyes were still turned in the direction of those Prussian batteries yonder.
'Oh! my friend,' sobbed Silvine, 'my friend!'
She had fallen upon her knees on the drenched ground, with clasped hands, in an outburst of mad grief. That name of friend, the only one that came to her lips, told of all the affection she had lost in losing that excellent young fellow, so good, so kind, who had forgiven her and consented, despite everything, to make her his wife. And now her hope was ended, her life was over. Never had she loved another, never would she cease to love him. The rain was abating, and a flock of crows whirling and croaking above the three trees, alarmed her like a threat of evil. Did they want to take him from her once more, that dear one, dead, alas! whom she had only found again with so much difficulty? She had dragged herself to him, on her knees, and was driving away the greedy flies that buzzed above his blankly staring eyes, whose glance she still obstinately sought.
But her anxiety took another turn when between Honoré's clenched fingers she espied some blood-stained paper. With gentle jerks, she tried to pull it from him; but the dead man would not release it, his fingers grasped it so tightly that it could only have been torn from him in shreds. It was the letter he had preserved under his shirt, against his skin, the letter she had written to him, which he had thus pressed as in a farewell clasp, amid the final throes of his agony. And when she had recognised it, there stole through all her affliction a profound and penetrating joy. She was quite overcome on finding that he had died thinking of her. Yes, most certainly, she would leave that dear letter in his hand, she would make no further effort to take it from him since he was so stubbornly bent on carrying it with him to the grave. A fresh flow of tears relieved her: warm, gentle tears were these. She had risen to her feet and she kissed his hands, she kissed his brow, repeating ever the same infinitely loving word: 'My friend—my friend.'
Meanwhile, however, the sun was sinking, and Prosper had gone to fetch the blanket, which he spread upon the ground. Then, slowly, reverently, they both raised Honoré's body, laid it on the blanket, and carried it, wrapped in the folds of the covering, to the little cart. The rain was already threatening again, and, mournful little cortège that they formed, they were starting off once more across that accursed plain, when all at once they heard a rolling, rumbling noise, as of thunder. Then again did Prosper call: 'The horses! the horses!'
It was another charge of those famished, wandering cavalry mounts which had remained at large. They were approaching this time over a vast level stretch of stubble, in a deep mass, with their manes streaming in the wind and their nostrils covered with foam; and an oblique ray of the red sun threw the shadow of their frantic gallop clean across the plateau to its farther end. Silvine had immediately sprung in front of the cart, her arms uplifted, as though to stop them, with a gesture of furious affright. Fortunately, some rising ground turned them aside and they swerved to the left, otherwise they must have crushed everything. The ground fairly shook beneath their mad scamper, and their hoofs sent the stones flying like grape-shot, one pebble wounding the little donkey on the head. Then they were lost to view in the depths of a ravine.
'It's hunger that makes them gallop like that,' said Prosper. 'Poor animals!'
Having bandaged the donkey's head with her handkerchief, Silvine again took hold of the bridle and the dismal little cortège once more traversed the plateau on its return journey of a couple of leagues or so to Remilly. At every few steps Prosper halted to gaze at the dead horses, his heart heavy at the thought of going off like that, without having again seen Zephyr.
A little below the wood of La Garenne, they were turning to the left with the intention of taking the road they had followed in the morning, when a German outpost demanded their laissez-passer, and instead of turning them away from Sedan ordered them to pass through the town under penalty of being arrested. There was no questioning this new order, besides it shortened the journey by a mile and a half, which they were glad of, weary as they felt in every limb.