And yet he slept.
A terrible clamor and an explosion awoke him an hour later. The sense of his duty, the peril of his friend, fell suddenly on his heart. He uttered a cry that was like a roar. He and his orderly were alone afoot. A sea of fire lay before them in the darkness of the night, licking up the cabins and the bivouacs; cries of despair, howls, and imprecations reached their ears; they saw against the flames thousands of human beings with agonized or furious faces. In the midst of that hell, a column of soldiers was forcing its way to the bridge, between two hedges of dead bodies.
“It is the retreat of the rear-guard!” cried the major. “All hope is gone!”
“I have saved your carriage, Philippe,” said a friendly voice.
Turning round, de Sucy recognized the young aide-de-camp in the flaring of the flames.
“Ah! all is lost!” replied the major, “they have eaten my horse; and how can I make this stupid general and his wife walk?”
“Take a brand from the fire and threaten them.”
“Threaten the countess!”
“Good-bye,” said the aide-de-camp, “I have scarcely time to get across that fatal river—and I MUST; I have a mother in France. What a night! These poor wretches prefer to lie here in the snow; half will allow themselves to perish in those flames rather than rise and move on. It is four o’clock, Philippe! In two hours the Russians will begin to move. I assure you you will again see the Beresina choked with corpses. Philippe! think of yourself! You have no horses, you cannot carry the countess in your arms. Come—come with me!” he said urgently, pulling de Sucy by the arm.
“My friend! abandon Stephanie!”