in a
lower tone, glancing at her beneath the ice-bound rim of his fur cap,
"Bon Dieu--what am I to wish you, I wonder?"

Desiree did not answer, but smiled a little and looked straight in front
of her.

Barlasch made a movement of the shoulders and eyebrows indicative of a
hidden anger.

"We are friends," he asked suddenly, "you and I?"

"Yes."

"We have been friends since--that day--when you were married?"

"Yes," answered Desiree.

"Then between friends," said Barlasch, gruffly; "it is not necessary to
smile--like that--when it is tears that are there."

Desiree laughed.

"Would you have me weep?" she asked.

"It would hurt one less," said Barlasch, attending to his horses. They
were in the town now, and the narrow streets were crowded. Many sick and
wounded were dragging themselves wearily along. A few carts, drawn by
starving horses, went slowly down the hill. But there was some semblance
of order, and thus men had the air and carriage of soldiers under
discipline. Barlasch was quick to see it.

"It is the Fourth Corps. The Viceroy's army. They have done well. He is
a soldier, who commands them. Ah! There is one I know."

He threw the reins to Desiree, and in a moment he was out on the snow.
A man, as old, it would seem, as himself, in uniform and carrying a
musket, was marching past with a few men who seemed to be under his
orders, though his uniform was long past recognition. He did not
perceive, for some minutes, that Barlasch was coming towards him, and
then the process of recognition was slow. Finally, he laid aside his
musket, and the two old men gravely kissed each other.

Quite forgetful of Desiree, they stood talking together for twenty
minutes. Then they gravely embraced once more, and Barlasch returned to
the sleigh. He took the reins, and urged the horses up the hill without
commenting on his encounter, but Desiree could see that he had heard
news.

The inn was outside the town, on the road that follows the Vistula
northwards to Dirschau and Dantzig. The horses were tired, and stumbled
on the powdery snow which was heavy, like sand, and of a sandy colour.
Here and there, by the side of the road, were great stains of blood and
the remains of a horse that had been killed, and eaten raw. The faces of
many of the men were smeared with blood, which had dried on their cheeks
and caked there. Nearly all were smoke-grimed and had sore eyes.

At last Barlasch spoke, with the decisive air of o