IV.

Between the city and Balan, Henriette got over the ground at a good, round pace.  It was not yet nine o’clock; the broad footpath, bordered by gardens and pretty cottages, was as yet comparatively free, although as she approached the village it began to be more and more obstructed by flying citizens and moving troops.  When she saw a great surge of the human tide advancing on her she hugged the walls and house-fronts, and by dint of address and perseverance slipped through, somehow.  The fold of black lace that half concealed her fair hair and small, pale face, the sober gown that enveloped her slight form, made her an inconspicuous object among the throng; she went her way unnoticed by the by-passers, and nothing retarded her light, silent steps.

At Balan, however, she found the road blocked by a regiment of infanterie de marine.  It was a compact mass of men, drawn up under the tall trees that concealed them from the enemy’s observation, awaiting orders.  She raised herself on tiptoe, and could not see the end; still, she made herself as small as she could and attempted to worm her way through.  The men shoved her with their elbows, and the butts of their muskets made acquaintance with her ribs; when she had advanced a dozen paces there was a chorus of shouts and angry protests.  A captain turned on her and roughly cried: 

“Hi, there, you woman! are you crazy?  Where are you going?”

“I am going to Bazeilles.”

“What, to Bazeilles?”

There was a shout of laughter.  The soldiers pointed at her with their fingers; she was the object of their witticisms.  The captain, also, greatly amused by the incident, had to have his joke.

“You should take us along with you, my little dear, if you are going to Bazeilles.  We were there a short while ago, and I am in hope that we shall go back there, but I can tell you that the temperature of the place is none too cool.”

“I am going to Bazeilles to look for my husband,” Henriette declared, in her gentle voice, while her blue eyes shone with undiminished resolution.

The laughter ceased; an old sergeant extricated her from the crowd that had collected around her, and forced her to retrace her steps.

“My poor child, you see it is impossible to get through.  Bazeilles is no place for you.  You will find your husband by and by.  Come, listen to reason!”

She had to obey, and stood aside beneath the trees, raising herself on her toes at every moment to peer before her, firm in her resolve to continue her journey as soon as she should be allowed to pass.  She learned the condition of affairs from the conversation that went on around her.  Some officers were criticising with great acerbity the order for the abandonment of Bazeilles, which had occurred at a quarter-past eight, at the time when General Ducrot, taking over the command from the marshal, had considered it best to concentrate the troops on the plateau of Illy.