speaking of the present,--dragged all this behind them, so that in the
special language they are called "stragglers." No army, no nation,
was responsible for those beings; they spoke Italian and followed the
Germans, then spoke French and followed the English. It was by one of
these wretches, a Spanish straggler who spoke French, that the Marquis
of Fervacques, deceived by his Picard jargon, and taking him for one
of our own men, was traitorously slain and robbed on the battle-field
itself, in the course of the night which followed the victory of
Cerisoles. The rascal sprang from this marauding. The detestable maxim,
Live on the enemy! produced this leprosy, which a strict discipline
alone could heal. There are reputations which are deceptive; one does
not always know why certain generals, great in other directions, have
been so popular. Turenne was adored by his soldiers because he tolerated
pillage; evil permitted constitutes part of goodness. Turenne was so
good that he allowed the Palatinate to be delivered over to fire and
blood. The marauders in the train of an army were more or less in
number, according as the chief was more or less severe. Hoche and
Marceau had no stragglers; Wellington had few, and we do him the justice
to mention it.

Nevertheless, on the night from the 18th to the 19th of June, the dead
were robbed. Wellington was rigid; he gave orders that any one caught in
the act should be shot; but rapine is tenacious. The marauders stole in
one corner of the battlefield while others were being shot in another.

The moon was sinister over this plain.

Towards midnight, a man was prowling about, or rather, climbing in the
direction of the hollow road of Ohain. To all appearance he was one of
those whom we have just described,--neither English nor French, neither
peasant nor soldier, less a man than a ghoul attracted by the scent
of the dead bodies having theft for his victory, and come to rifle
Waterloo. He was clad in a blouse that was something like a great coat;
he was uneasy and audacious; he walked forwards and gazed behind him.
Who was this man? The night probably knew more of him than the day. He
had no sack, but evidently he had large pockets under his coat. From
time to time he halted, scrutinized the plain around him as though to
see whether he were observed, bent over abruptly, disturbed something
silent and motionless on the ground, then rose and fled. His sliding
motion, his attitudes, his