She raised her gaunt arm, her piercing voice carried well.
"Old witch!" growled Guillaumin.
We passed on, but could hear her apostrophising the platoons and companies behind us:
"You won't stop them!"
Her monotonous imprecation possessed our minds for a long time.
The night fell, but we marched on and on. What a day's march this was, too. Having had a meal we managed to hold out. We advanced without thinking and yet what extraordinary sights we came across. The enormous column of fugitives was trailing along this roadway too. This time we were going up-stream, pushing northwards from Étain.
But what were these soldiers scattered among the heart-breaking band. The moon was beginning to shine. We caught sight of uniforms, at first isolated, then in groups—all the troops mixed, and the ranks, too, apparently.... The strange thing was that it never occurred to us to ask what they were all doing or where they were going.... A few details only struck us. Why so many foot-sloggers on horseback? This problem worried Guillaumin. He sounded me several times.
"Mounted scouts, do you think?"
I answered drowsily: