said. "He looks half dead already. Mes enfants, he shall stay with us."
Faint tones of remonstrance began to make themselves heard, but they were silenced in a very summary fashion. The Guardsman laid his bronzed hand, hard as iron, upon the shoulder of Henri. "Sacre!" he cried. "You shall take him and me together. Both of us, or neither!"
This was decisive. The poor, abject, half-starved wretches knew their master; they felt their lives depended upon his care and guidance; and they obeyed him as, in a time of need, the incapable usually obey any capable person who undertakes to direct them. Room was made for Henri beside the fire, and the very man who had flung the brand after him a few minutes before now volunteered to chafe one of his ears, which showed symptoms of being frozen.
Supper was served, consisting of a piece of roasted horse-flesh without bread or salt, and a very small quantity of rum, carefully measured out to each member of the party, and mixed with snow-water. Then every man crept as close to the fire as he could, wrapped about him what garments he had, and tried to sleep; every man, that is to say, except the Guard, who, explaining to Henri that some one must always watch, and that the first watch of the night devolved upon him, lit his pipe with a meditative air, and seated himself beside the fire.
Weary as Henri was, he could not help asking one or two questions. "Garde," he said, "do you know where we are?"
"Somewhere on the way to Smolensko, which, if we live, we may reach perhaps in two days or three."
"Shall we find our regiments again, do you think?"
"I cannot answer for yours, my boy; the new ones seem to be melting like snow-flakes. The Old Guard," he added with a flash of pride, "is always to be found, whether by friend or foe."
"These men around us, who are they?"
