And still the army went past like a procession in a dream of hell, and every moment it became darker, until the fir trees and the rocks were being lost in blackness and the howls of the wolves sounded nearer. Presently came a woman walking with more energy than most, yet stumbling under some burden that she held in her arms. At that moment d’Espagnac suddenly recovered consciousness, and cried in a clear voice—
“Let us get on our way, my dear Marquis—we ought to be at Eger to-morrow night.”
The words made the woman pause and look round. The Marquis gazed at her; he had last seen her on a white horse beneath a silver fir; and though he had forgotten her since, he had now a passionate desire that she should stop and speak to him.
As if in answer to this wish, she crossed directly to the wagon. The young Count had fallen into a weak swoon again, and she looked down on him calmly.
“Your friend is dying,” she said. “My God, how many more!”
She sat down on a round grey stone and put her hand to her head; then the Marquis saw that she carried, wrapped to her breast, a small sick child.
“You must go on,” he said, with energy. “You must not stop for us, Mademoiselle.”
“I cannot walk any more,” she answered. “I am very strong, but I cannot walk farther.”
“Where is your brother?” he asked.
“Dead,” she replied.