h the cellar at the bottom. The Cossacks had been there before
us, as was easily seen by the broken bottles littered all over it.
However, the Mayor was a _bon-vivant_, and I do not wish to have a
better set of bins to pick from. Chambertin, Graves, Alicant, white wine
and red, sparkling and still, they lay in pyramids peeping coyly out of
sawdust. Old Bouvet stood with his candle looking here and peeping
there, purring in his throat like a cat before a milk-pail. He had
picked upon a Burgundy at last, and had his hand outstretched to the
bottle when there came a roar of musketry from above us, a rush of feet,
and such a yelping and screaming as I have never listened to. The
Prussians were upon us!

Bouvet is a brave man: I will say that for him. He flashed out his sword
and away he clattered up the stone steps, his spurs clinking as he ran.
I followed him, but just as we came out into the kitchen passage a
tremendous shout told us that the house had been recaptured.

'It is all over,' I cried, grasping at Bouvet's sleeve.

'There is one more to die,' he shouted, and away he went like a madman
up the second stair. In effect, I should have gone to my death also had
I been in his place, for he had done very wrong in not throwing out his
scouts to warn him if the Germans advanced upon him. For an instant I
was about to rush up with him, and then I bethought myself that, after
all, I had my own mission to think of, and that if I were taken the
important letter of the Emperor would be sacrificed. I let Bouvet die
alone, therefore, and I went down into the cellar again, closing the
door behind me.

Well, it was not a very rosy prospect down there either. Bouvet had
dropped the candle when the alarm came, and I, pawing about in the
darkness, could find nothing but broken bottles. At last I came upon
the candle, which had rolled under the curve of a cask, but, try as I
would with my tinderbox, I could not light it. The reason was that the
wick had been wet in a puddle of wine, so suspecting that this might be
the case, I cut the end off with my sword. Then I found that it lighted
easily enough. But what to do I could not imagine. The scoundrels
upstairs were shouting themselves hoarse, several hundred of them from
the sound, and it was clear that some of them would soon want to moisten
their throats. There would be an end to a dashing soldier, and of the
mission and of the medal. I thought of my mother and I thought of the