“Saved!” she repeated, sinking down again.
The horses were harnessed as best they could. The major, holding his sabre in his well hand, with his pistols in his belt, gathered up the reins with the other hand and mounted one horse while the grenadier mounted the other. The orderly, whose feet were frozen, was thrown inside the carriage, across the general and the countess. Excited by pricks from a sabre, the horses drew the carriage rapidly, with a sort of fury, to the plain, where innumerable obstacles awaited it. It was impossible to force a way without danger of crushing the sleeping men, women, and even children, who refused to move when the grenadier awoke them. In vain did Monsieur de Sucy endeavor to find the swathe cut by the rear-guard through the mass of human beings; it was already obliterated, like the wake of a vessel through the sea. They could only creep along, being often stopped by soldiers who threatened to kill their horses.
“Do you want to reach the bridge?” said the grenadier.
“At the cost of my life—at the cost of the whole world!”
“Then forward, march! you can’t make omelets without breaking eggs.”
And the grenadier of the guard urged the horses over men and bivouacs with bloody wheels and a double line of corpses on either side of them. We must do him the justice to say that he never spared his breath in shouting in stentorian tones,—
“Look out there, carrion!”
“Poor wretches!” cried the major.
“Pooh! that or the cold, that or the cannon,” said the grenadier, prodding the horses, and urging them on.
A catastrophe, which might well have happened to them much sooner, put a stop to their advance. The carriage was overturned.