Somewhere near to him would be the sentries of the field-watch.  He went down upon his hands and knees and crawled, parting the vine leaves, that the swish of them might not betray him.  In a little knoll high above his head he heard the cracking of wood, the sound of men stumbling.  The Prussians were coming down to Vaudere.  He lay flat upon the ground waiting and waiting; and the sounds grew louder and approached.  At last he heard that for which he waited—­the challenge of the field-watch, the answer of the burning-party.  It came down to him quite clearly through the windless air.  “Sadowa.”

Lieutenant Fevrier turned about chuckling.  It seemed that in some respects the world after all was not going so ill with him that night.  He crawled downwards as quickly as he could.  But it was now more than even inspiration that he should not be detected.  He dared not stand up and run; he must still keep upon his hands and knees.  His arms so ached that he was forced now and then to stop and lie prone to give them ease; he was soaked through and through with perspiration; his blood hammered at his temples; he felt his spine weaken as though the marrow had melted into water; and his heart throbbed until the effort to breathe was a pain.  But he reached the bottom of the hill, he got refuge amongst his men, he even had time to give his orders before the tread of the first Prussian was heard in the street.

“They will make for the other end of Vaudere.  They will give the village first as near to the French lines as it reaches and light the rest as they retreat.  Let them go forward!  We will cut them off.  And remember, the bayonet!  A shot will bring the Prussians down in force.  It will bring the French too, so there is just the chance we may find the enemy as silent as ourselves.”

But the plan was to undergo alteration.  For as Lieutenant Fevrier ended, the Prussians marched in single file into the street and halted.  Fevrier from the corner within his doorway counted them; there were twenty-three in all.  Well, he had twenty besides himself, and the advantage of the surprise; and thirty more upon the other roads, for whom, however, he had other work in mind.  The officer in command of the Prussians carried a dark lantern, and he now turned the slide, so that the light shone out.

His men fell out of their rank, some to make a cursory search, others to sprinkle yet more paraffin.  One man came close to Fevrier’s doorway, and even looked in, but he saw nothing, though Fevrier was within six feet of him, holding his breath.  Then the officer closed his lantern, the men re-formed and marched on.  But they left behind with Lieutenant Fevrier—­an idea.

He thought it quickly over.  It pleased him, it was feasible, and there was comedy in it.  Lieutenant Fevrier laughed again, his spirits were rising, and the world was not after all going so ill with him.

He had noticed by the lantern light that the Prussians had not re-formed in the same order.  They were in single file again, but the man who marched last before the halt, did not march last after it.  Each soldier, as he came up, fell in in the rear of the file.  Now Fevrier had in the darkness experienced some difficulty in counting the number of Prussians, although he had strained his eyes to that end.