'Ah! the bandits!' suddenly exclaimed Weiss. 'They have got round. I saw them running along the railway line. There! can't you hear them over yonder on the left?'
A fusillade had indeed just broken out in the rear of the park of Montivilliers which skirted the road. If the foe should secure possession of that park Bazeilles would be captured. The violence of the firing proved, however, that the Commander of the Twelfth Corps had foreseen this movement on the enemy's part, and that the park was being defended.
'Take care, you clumsy chap!' suddenly exclaimed the lieutenant, forcing Weiss to draw back close to the wall; 'you'll be cut in half!'
Though he could not help smiling at this big spectacled fellow, he had begun to feel interested in him, doubtless on account of the bravery he displayed; and, hearing a shell coming, he had in a fraternal way pushed him on one side. The projectile fell a dozen paces off, and, in bursting, covered them both with splinters. The civilian, however, remained erect without a scratch, whereas the unfortunate lieutenant had both legs broken. 'Ah! curse it!' he muttered. 'I'm done for.'
He had been thrown down on the side-walk, and he instructed his men to place him in a sitting posture with his back against a door, near the spot where the corpse of that unfortunate woman Françoise was stretched across the threshold of her room. And the lieutenant's young face still retained its stubborn, energetic expression. 'It's of no consequence, my lads,' said he. 'Listen to me. Fire at your ease, don't hurry--I'll tell you when the time comes to charge them.'
And thus, with his head erect, watching the distant movements of the foe, he continued commanding his men. Another house across the road caught fire. The crackling of the fusillade and the loud explosions of the shells rent the dust-and-smoke-pervaded atmosphere. Men were toppling over at each street corner, and wherever the dead had fallen--now singly, now in clusters--there were dark spots splashed with blood; whilst over and above the village arose a frightful, growing clamour, the threatening uproar of thousands of men rushing on a few hundred brave fellows who were resolved to die.
And now Delaherche, who had repeatedly called to Weiss, asked him for the last time: 'Are you coming? No? So much the worse, but I'm off--good-bye!'