they would be the stronger for the retrograde movement, that under the walls of Paris they would be invincible, and that there it was that the Prussians would sustain their inevitable defeat.  But Vouziers must be evacuated before daybreak, and they must be well on the road to Chene before the enemy should learn of the movement, and forthwith the camp presented a scene of the greatest animation:  trumpets sounding, officers hastening to and fro with orders, while the baggage and quartermaster’s trains, in order not to encumber the rear-guard, were sent forward in advance.

Maurice was delighted.  As he was endeavoring to explain to Jean the rationale of the impending movement, however, a cry of pain escaped him; his excitement had subsided, and he was again conscious of his foot, aching and burning as if it had been a ball of red-hot metal.

“What’s the matter? is it hurting you again?” the corporal asked sympathizingly.  And with his calm and sensible resourcefulness he said:  “See here, little one, you told me yesterday that you have acquaintances in the town, yonder.  You ought to get permission from the major and find some one to drive you over to Chene, where you could have a good night’s rest in a comfortable bed.  We can pick you up as we go by to-morrow if you are fit to march.  What do you say to that, hein?”

In Falaise, the village near which the camp was pitched, Maurice had come across a small farmer, an old friend of his father’s, who was about to drive his daughter over to Chene to visit an aunt in that town, and the horse was even then standing waiting, hitched to a light carriole.  The prospect was far from encouraging, however, when he broached the subject to Major Bouroche.

“I have a sore foot, monsieur the doctor—­”

Bouroche, with a savage shake of his big head with its leonine mane, turned on him with a roar: 

“I am not monsieur the doctor; who taught you manners?”

And when Maurice, taken all aback, made a stammering attempt to excuse himself, he continued: 

“Address me as major, do you hear, you great oaf!”

He must have seen that he had not one of the common herd to deal with and felt a little ashamed of himself; he carried it off with a display of more roughness.

“All a cock-and-bull story, that sore foot of yours!—­Yes, yes; you may go.  Go in a carriage, go in a balloon, if you choose.  We have too many of you malingerers in the army!”

When Jean assisted Maurice into the carriole the latter turned to thank him, whereon the two men fell into each other’s arms and embraced as if they were never to meet again.  Who could tell, amid the confusion and disorder of the retreat, with those bloody Prussians on their track?  Maurice could not tell how it was that there was already such a tender affection between him and the young man, and twice he turned to wave him a farewell.  As he left the camp they were preparing to light great fires in order to mislead the enemy when they should steal away, in deepest silence, before the dawn of day.