Jean became separated from Maurice in the scramble which took place on the Place de Torcy at the end of the Wadelincourt highway, and as he ran on he lost himself among the tramping crowd, and was unable to find his friend. This was really unlucky, for he had accepted Maurice's offer to take him to his sister's house, where they had arranged to have a rest, a refreshing nap in a comfortable bed. There was so much confusion, all the regiments being intermingled, without marching orders or even commanders, that the men were almost at liberty to do as they pleased. Thus Maurice and Jean had come to the conclusion that after enjoying a few hours' sleep they would still have ample time to take their bearings and rejoin their comrades.
Quite scared, Jean found himself on the Torcy viaduct, overlooking extensive meadows which the governor had flooded with the waters of the river. Then, after passing through another gateway, he crossed the bridge over the Meuse, and, although the dawn was rising, it seemed to him as if night were coming back again, so darkly did the lofty houses overshadow the damp streets of this little town, cramped up within its ramparts. Jean did not even remember the name of Maurice's brother-in-law; he only knew that the young fellow's sister was named Henriette. Where should he go? Whom should he ask for? It was only the mechanical motion of the march that still kept him upright; he felt that he should fall if he ventured to stop. Like a drowning man, he could hear nothing save a confused buzzing, distinguish nothing save the continuous streaming of the flood of men and horses in the midst of which he was being carried along. Having partaken of some food at Remilly, it was now the need of sleep that caused him the most suffering; and, indeed, all around him weariness was conquering hunger. The shadowy flock of soldiers went stumbling hither and thither along the strange streets, and at every step some man or other sank down on the footway or on a doorstep, and remained there fast asleep.
Suddenly, however, on raising his eyes, Jean noticed an inscription: 'Avenue de la Sous-Préfecture.' At the farther end of this avenue there was a monument in a garden, and at a corner near him he perceived a cavalry soldier, a Chasseur d'Afrique, whom he fancied he recognised. Was it not that fellow Prosper, belonging to Remilly, whom he had seen with Maurice at Vouziers? The Chasseur had alighted from his horse, and the wretched, haggard animal was trembling in every limb, so famished that it had stretched out its neck to munch the woodwork of a van, standing beside the footway. The horses had received no rations for two days past, and were dying of exhaustion. Jean noticed that tears were falling from the eyes of the Chasseur d'Afrique, as he stood there beside his steed, whose big teeth were gnawing the wood with a rasping sound.
Jean passed on, and when, a few moments afterwards, he retraced his steps, in the idea that this Chasseur must know the address of Maurice's relatives, he found him gone. Despair then took possession of the corporal, who wandered on from street to street till he again found himself at the Sub-Prefecture, whence he proceeded as far as the Place Turenne. Then, for a moment, he fancied himself saved, for in front of the town-hall, at the foot of the statue of Turenne, he espied Lieutenant Rochas with a few men of his company. Since he could not find his friend he would join the regiment again and have a nap under canvas. That, at all events, would be better than nothing. Captain Beaudoin not having turned up again—he had doubtless been carried away in some other direction—the lieutenant had endeavoured to get his men together, besides trying to ascertain on what spot the division was to encamp. On its way through the town, however, the company gradually diminished instead of increasing. One man, after making a furious gesture, strode into a tavern and was not seen again. Three others halted in front of a grocer's shop, in compliance with the suggestion of some Zouaves, who had just tapped a little barrel of brandy there. Others, too, quite overcome, had fallen to the ground, and were lying prostrate in the gutters; whilst some, anxious to start off again, tried to pick themselves up, but fell back once more, utterly worn out and dazed. Chouteau and Loubet, after nudging one another, bolted up a dark passage, behind a fat woman who was carrying a loaf; and finally only Pache and Lapoulle, and some ten of their comrades, remained with the lieutenant.
When Jean came up, Rochas was standing beside the bronze statue of Turenne, making a great effort to remain erect and keep his eyes open. 'Ah! so it's you, corporal. Where are your men?' he muttered, on recognising Jean.
Jean waved his hand as if to say that he did not know; but Pache, from whose eyes tears were starting, pointed to Lapoulle, and answered: 'We are here; there are only we two left—may God take pity on us, it's getting too dreadful.'
Lapoulle, the man with the terrible appetite, looked at Jean's hands with a voracious expression. For some days past he had been disgusted to find them always empty. Possibly, in his sleepy state, he imagined that the corporal had been to fetch the rations. 'Curse it!' he growled, 'so we've again got to tighten our belts.'
Whilst leaning against the railing which inclosed the statue, awaiting orders to sound the assembly, Gaude, the bugler, had gone to sleep, and slid to the ground, where he was now lying spread out on his back. One by one they all succumbed, and with their fists clenched, began to snore. Sergeant Sapin, his nose contracted and his thin little face extremely pale, was the only one whose eyes remained wide open, scanning the horizon of this strange town as though he could there read his impending fate. On his side, Lieutenant Rochas had given way to an irresistible desire to sit down, and, crouching on the pavement, he endeavoured to give an order: 'Corporal,' he said, 'you must, you must——' But his tongue, clogged by fatigue, refused its service, and all at once he also fell back, overwhelmed with weariness.
Thereupon Jean, afraid lest he should fall on the pavement like the others, went off, still obstinately bent on finding a bed. At one of the windows of the Golden Cross Hotel, on the other side of the Place, he had just espied General Bourgain-Desfeuilles, already in his shirt sleeves, and about to slip between a pair of clean white sheets. As that was the course which the generals adopted, what use was there in being zealous, in suffering any longer? And suddenly Jean felt overjoyed, for a name had come to him from the depths of his memory, the name of the cloth manufacturer who employed Maurice's brother-in-law: Monsieur Delaherche!—yes, that was it. An old gentleman was passing at that moment: 'Can you tell me where Monsieur Delaherche lives?' Jean asked him.
'In the Rue Maqua, almost at the corner of the Rue au Beurre. It's a big, handsome house, with a carved front.' The old man then passed on, but all at once he hastened back after Jean, exclaiming: 'I say, you belong to the 106th. If you are looking for your regiment, it has left the town by way of the Château over there. I just met your colonel, Monsieur de Vineuil, whom I knew very well when he was in garrison at Mézières.'