re too long. So
long as the houses were there to afford him shelter he took advantage
of every doorway, of every bit of projecting wall, shrinking at every
volley into cavities that were ridiculously small in comparison with his
bulk. He turned and twisted in and out with the sinuous dexterity of
the serpent; he would never have supposed that there was so much of his
youthful agility left in him. When he reached the end of the village,
however, and had to make his way for a space of some three hundred yards
along the deserted, empty road, swept by the batteries on Liry hill,
although the perspiration was streaming from his face and body, he
shivered and his teeth chattered. For a minute or so he advanced
cautiously along the bed of a dry ditch, bent almost double, then,
suddenly forsaking the protecting shelter, burst into the open and ran
for it with might and main, wildly, aimlessly, his ears ringing with
detonations that sounded to him like thunder-claps. His eyes burned like
coals of fire; it seemed to him that he was wrapt in flame. It was an
eternity of torture. Then he suddenly caught sight of a little house
to his left, and he rushed for the friendly refuge, gained it, with a
sensation as if an immense load had been lifted from his breast. The
place was tenanted, there were men and horses there. At first he
could distinguish nothing. What he beheld subsequently filled him with
amazement.

Was not that the Emperor, attended by his brilliant staff? He hesitated,
although for the last two days he had been boasting of his acquaintance
with him, then stood staring, open-mouthed. It was indeed Napoleon III.;
he appeared larger, somehow, and more imposing on horseback, and his
mustache was so stiffly waxed, there was such a brilliant color on his
cheeks, that Delaherche saw at once he had been "made up" and painted
like an actor. He had had recourse to cosmetics to conceal from his army
the ravages that anxiety and illness had wrought in his countenance, the
ghastly pallor of his face, his pinched nose, his dull, sunken eyes,
and having been notified at five o'clock that there was fighting at
Bazeilles, had come forth to see, sadly and silently, like a phantom
with rouged cheeks.

There was a brick-kiln near by, behind which there was safety from the
rain of bullets that kept pattering incessantly on its other front and
the shells that burst at every second on the road. The mounted group had
halted.

"Sire," someon