er, when once more I was
aroused by the rolling of five or six pieces of artillery along the
road. The cannoneers sat sabre in hand, and behind came the caissons.
I hoped no more from these than from the others, when suddenly I
perceived a tall, lean, red-bearded veteran mounted beside one of the
pieces, and bearing the cross upon his breast. It was my old friend
Zimmer, my old comrade of Leipzig. He was passing without seeing me,
when I cried, with all the strength that remained to me:

"Christian! Christian!"

He heard me in spite of the noise of the guns; stopped, and turned
round.

"Christian!" I cried, "take pity on me!"

He saw me lying at the foot of a tree, and came to me with a pale face
and staring eyes:

"What! Is it you, my poor Joseph?" cried he, springing from his horse.

He lifted me in his arms as if I were an infant, and shouted to the men
who were driving the last wagon:

"Halt!"

[Illustration: "Halt! Stop!"]

Then embracing me, he placed me in it, my head upon a knapsack. I saw
too that he wrapped a great cavalry cloak around my feet, as he cried:

"Forward! Forward! It is growing warm yonder!"

I remember no more, but I have the faint impression of hearing the
sound of heavy guns and rattle of musketry, mingled with shouts and
commands. Branches of tall pines seemed to pass between me and the sky
through the night; but all this might have been a dream. But that day,
behind Solmunster, in the woods of Hanau, we had a battle with the
Bavarians, and routed them.

XXII

On the fifteenth of January, 1814, two months and a half after the
battle of Hanau, I awoke in a good bed, and at the end of a little,
well-warmed room; and gazing at the rafters over my head, then at the
little windows, where the frost had spread its silver sheen, I
exclaimed: "It is winter!" At the same time I heard the crash of
artillery and the crackling of a fire, and turning over on my bed in a
few moments, I saw seated at its side a pale young woman, with her arms
folded, and I recognized--Catharine! I recognized, too, the room where
I had spent so many happy Sundays before going to the wars. But the
thunder of the cannon made me think I was dreaming. I gazed for a long
while at Catharine, who seemed more beautiful than ever, and the
question rose, "Where is Aunt Gredel? am I at home once more? God
grant that this be not a dream!"

At last I took courage and called softly:

"Catharine!"