To give any kind of description of the horrors of the retreat of the Grande ArmÉe is very far from the intention of the writer of this history; the theme is both unpleasant and threadbare. An incident or two will suffice.

Louise, marching with her regiment, which formed a portion of Marshal Ney's command, walked with her companions into an ambush of desperate Cossacks, who rode tumultuously into the midst of the French ranks from the shelter of a belt of pine forest, freely dealing death and wounds before they were driven back by their spirited opponents. Louise was knocked down by a small Cossack pony and trodden upon by more than one of its companions, the great majority of which, however, adroitly avoided stepping upon her; for the little Cossack horse hates to plant his foot upon a recumbent human form and displays marvellous ingenuity in avoiding so sacrilegious an act.

Louise lay a while unconscious. When she recovered her senses and sat up her companions had already moved forward and were out of sight, all but the grim lines of dead men and a few wounded fellows who sat or lay and conversed.

"Sapristi!" said Louise, "I don't think I am very badly hurt. Can you stand and walk, any of you? I have a mind to move on."

Most of those about her replied that they preferred to remain and chance being picked up by the ambulances. "The Marshal himself is still behind," one said; "he will make dispositions for us."

One or two attempted to stand and move forward with Louise, but soon found that the exertion was too much for them. Louise hastened forward alone. Her head ached terribly and she felt pain in her breast, doubtless the result of being trodden upon or kicked by a passing horse. For the rest she was unwounded.

For a mile she trudged forward, hoping to catch sight of the regiment. This she presently did, but hurrying onward, in order to gain ground upon them, she suddenly became aware that her head swam; she reeled, went on a few paces and sat down.

"I cannot," she muttered; "I am fainting."

There was a deserted village close at hand, and Louise presently contrived to struggle onward as far as the nearest hut, which she entered. The single room was dirty and smoky, the air foetid and horrible, but Louise felt that she had reached paradise; she was cold and ill and miserable; she sank upon the floor with her back to the stove, which was still warm, and prepared to sleep.

"It is a risk, I know," she told herself, "for the peasants may return at any moment, but I must sleep or die. Mercy of Heaven, what a pain is in my breast!" She tore open her military tunic and bared her bosom; it was badly bruised but not actually wounded. "It is nothing. Mon Dieu, I must sleep this moment," Louise murmured.

Automatically pulling together the clothes which she had torn apart the weary girl fell fast asleep with the task half accomplished.

Half an hour later a dozen peasants and some women crept back to the village, having hidden themselves at the approach of the French soldiers in the early afternoon. It was now dusk. A man and a woman entered the hut in which Louise lay, the man entering first.

He started back upon seeing the French soldier asleep, turning towards his wife with finger to lip.

"See," he whispered, "what lies at the stove! God is good to us—here is an accursed Frenchman delivered into our hands! He has a rifle, a sword, a uniform and possibly money in his pocket!" The fellow fumbled with the axe which hung at his girdle.

"He has touched none of our things—the village has not been destroyed or pillaged; spare the poor wretch, God will requite us," said the woman, who gazed not without admiration at the handsome sleeping face.

"Vzdor! nonsense! God will, on the contrary, punish us if we allow to escape one of the invaders of Holy Russia. How do we know this fellow has not helped to rob a church or to assault a woman, or to desecrate the Holy Place in one of God's own houses? He comes from Moscow, where, it is said, many such detestable acts were done!"

"Well, have your will, but let me first go out of sight," said the woman, "for I am afraid of bloodshed."

A moment later the moujik rushed out of the hut to his wife, who stood and shivered without in the cold rain which was half snow.

"Masha!" he cried, "come and see; it is a woman!"

"Vzdor—it cannot be; it is a soldier; you have not struck?"

"Not yet—I was startled and held my hand; there is some mystery here, it is certainly a woman."

Masha entered the hut and stole softly towards the stove. Louise lay breathing peacefully, her bosom, half bared, rising and falling in the measured cadence of quiet slumber.

"Yes, it is a woman. You shall not strike, Mishka; there is certainly mystery here; probably it is some poor soul who strives to escape more safely by donning the uniform of a French soldier of which she has robbed a dead man by the way. She may be a Russian maiden who has sought her wounded lover upon the battlefield."

"My God, it may be as you say. We will let her lie. Who knows she may be rich and will reward us. Here is her wallet, I will see if it contains money."

The wallet contained a few silver pieces, which Mishka quickly transferred to his own pocket. Then he added wood to the stove and the pair ate their supper. Louise slept peacefully through it. Presently both man and woman lay down to sleep.

"The warning bell will soon wake us if we must clear out again," Mishka had said; "or shall one of us watch a while and afterwards the other?"

"God forbid!" exclaimed Masha, yawning; "last night there was no sleep and the night before but an hour or two; I am tired to death."

Soon after midnight Louise awoke at the sound of running feet without. She started up and looked about, but could see nothing in the darkness. Some one came to the door and called out "Dmitry Vannkof—Mishka—awake and come to the door, I have news for you".

"Mon Dieu!" thought Louise. "Perhaps I had better be substitute for Dmitry Vannkof, whoever he may be, and attend to this visitor; it is dark and I should not be seen." She was about to rise and go to the door, when the unseen visitor continued to shout and to knock impatiently with some hard object, probably an axe; Louise remembered that though she had picked up much Russian during the campaign, she was not a sufficiently good scholar to carry on a conversation without suspicion and discovery. She therefore lay still.

"Mishka, curse you, are you drunk or dead?" roared the unseen one.

To the horror and surprise of Louise some one shuffled close beside her on the floor, and a woman's voice said aloud: "Mishka, we are called—awake—sÉchasse idyÓm, soodar! (we're just coming, sir!)".

Mishka grunted and awoke with imprecations. "What is it?" he shouted; "are we never to be allowed to sleep again? Who's there?"

"It is I, the Starost; the Hetman of the Mojaisk Cossacks is in the village; we are to assemble at four in Toozof's field, bringing pitchforks and pickaxes. There is to be an oblava (battue). It is said that the best general of all these accursed cut-throats is to pass at daybreak; he is sleeping at BiÉloy; he is to be ambushed with all his guard; we shall not have lived in vain if we succeed in this; we shall be three thousand Cossacks and the moujiks of twelve villages; be ready at four and thank God meanwhile for all His mercies."

The man departed.

"By the Saints!" exclaimed Mishka, yawning; "if one were not so deadly sleepy that would be good news. See, Masha, what we will do. I will sleep until four, while you wake; when I have departed you shall sleep, if you will, for a score of hours!" Masha agreed to this arrangement, and within a minute his snoring was sonorous proof that her goodman had wasted none of his time.

Louise lay and listened to Masha's yawning and half-uttered exclamations of weariness. Why had these people not despatched her at sight? Had they entered in the dark and failed to detect her? The thing was a mystery. She felt refreshed and her head scarcely ached; BiÉloy was, she remembered, but a league away, towards Moscow. So far as she had understood the Starost's words, it was Marshal Ney and his guards who were to be ambushed. "I shall warn them, of course," she reflected; "but there is no need to disturb them too soon, for Heaven knows every man of us requires all the sleep he can get."

Poor Masha gaped and muttered for an hour; then she snored at intervals in concert with her husband; then she fell asleep in earnest and this time very soundly.

"Poor soul!" thought Louise; "let her sleep! We shall have one pitchfork the less to contend with!"

Long before four o'clock she was afoot and on the way to BiÉloy, having left the worthy moujik and his wife snoring in peaceful harmony.

She reached BiÉloy, a large village or selo, which means the principal of a group of villages, containing the church and perhaps a shop or two. The place was occupied by French soldiers. A picket was placed upon the road half a mile from BiÉloy and the soldiers sat and talked and laughed over their fire. They challenged Louise, who showed herself in the firelight and explained her errand.

"That is well," laughed a man. "I thought you must have fallen in love with some Russian wench in Moscow and were returning to her embraces. This we should have been obliged to prevent. Love is good when time and opportunity serve. Think of the women of Paris, mon brave, they wait for you and for me!" Louise laughed also.

"You will allow me to carry my news to the Marshal?" she said.

"Sapristi! While the Marshal sleeps? My friend, cannot this danger wait until we are all refreshed and fit to contend with it?"

"It will wait until marching time," said Louise; "especially if you will give me food meanwhile."

"There is food to-day, and you shall share it; also there is a drink called kvass, which I think the devil invented for the confusion of human stomachs; you shall taste it and suffer pain, as I have done; what matter! we are brought into the world to suffer and to enjoy. To-morrow we may starve; but one day we shall reach Paris!"

At daybreak the village was astir. Marshal Ney himself rode out in the midst of his guards and Louise was brought before him, for she had refused to tell her tale except to his ears.

"I may as well have the advantage of my luck, if any advantage there be!" she had told herself.

Ney listened, frowning.

"You are in luck, mon brave," he said. "What is your name?"

"Michel Prevost, Excellence."

"Good; you are a sergeant, I see; call yourself a lieutenant; do you know this place the fellow referred to—the place of ambush?"

"I was myself ambushed there yesterday with my regiment, Excellence; it is well adapted for a surprise."

"Good; you shall be guide; the surprise this time shall be to the Cossacks and your friends with the pitchforks. If you guide us cleverly you shall call yourself captain, though, entre nous, I think most of us are more likely to need our titles for paradise than for Paris!"

On this occasion the Cossacks were caught napping and Louise came out of her adventure with the epaulettes of a captain, which Ney bestowed upon her with his own hands.