De Sucy seized the countess, made her stand upright, shook her with the roughness of a despairing man, and compelled her to wake up. She looked at him with fixed, dead eyes.
“You must walk, Stephanie, or we shall all die here.”
For all answer the countess tried to drop again upon the snow and sleep. The aide-de-camp seized a brand from the fire and waved it in her face.
“We will save her in spite of herself!” cried Philippe, lifting the countess and placing her in the carriage.
He returned to implore the help of his friend. Together they lifted the old general, without knowing whether he were dead or alive, and put him beside his wife. The major then rolled over the men who were sleeping on his blankets, which he tossed into the carriage, together with some roasted fragments of his mare.
“What do you mean to do?” asked the aide-de-camp.
“Drag them.”
“You are crazy.”
“True,” said Philippe, crossing his arms in despair.
Suddenly, he was seized by a last despairing thought.