now you tell me that it is we who are to take the flogging! Why, pray tell me? How? Is the world coming to an end?” He drew his tall form up higher still and raised his arm aloft, like the staff of a battle-flag. “Look you, there has been a fight to-day, down yonder, and we are waiting for the news. Well! I will tell you what the news is—I will tell you, I! We have flogged the Prussians, flogged them until they didn’t know whether they were a-foot or a-horseback, flogged them to powder, so that they had to be swept up in small pieces!” 

 At that moment there passed over the camp, beneath the somber heavens, a loud, wailing cry. Was it the plaint of some nocturnal bird? Or was it a mysterious voice, reaching them from some far-distant field of carnage, ominous of disaster? The whole camp shuddered, lying there in the shadows, and the strained, tense sensation of expectant anxiety that hung, miasma-like, in the air became more strained, more feverish, as they waited for telegrams that seemed as if they would never come. In the distance, at the farmhouse, the candle that lighted the dreary watches of the staff burned up more brightly, with an erect, unflickering flame, as if it had been of wax instead of tallow. 

 But it was ten o’clock, and Gaude, rising to his feet from the ground where he had been lost in the darkness, sounded taps, the first in all the camp. Other bugles, far and near, took up the strain, and it passed away in the distance with a dying, melancholy wail, as if the angel of slumber had already brushed with his wings the weary men. And Weiss, who had lingered there so late, embraced Maurice affectionately; courage, and hope! he would kiss Henriette for her brother and would have many things to tell uncle Fouchard when they met. Then, just as he was turning to go, a rumor began to circulate, accompanied by the wildest excitement. A great victory had been won by Marshal MacMahon, so the report ran; the Crown Prince of Prussia a prisoner, with twenty-five thousand men, the enemy’s army repulsed and utterly destroyed, its guns and baggage abandoned to the victors. 

 “Didn’t I tell you so!” shouted Rochas, in his most thundering voice. Then, running after Weiss, who, light of heart, was hastening to get back to Mülhausen: “To Berlin, sir, and we’ll kick them every step of the way!” 

 A quarter of an hour later came another dispatch, announcing that the army had been compelled to evacuate Woerth and was retreating. Ah, what a night was that! Rochas, overpowered by sleep, wrapped his cloak about him, threw himself down on the bare ground, as he had done 

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