Short Stories, vol 2 | Page 6

saddles, and cried: 'Fire!'
"Fifty rifle shots broke the stillness of the night, then there were four or
five reports, and at last one single shot was heard, and when the smoke
had cleared away, we saw that the twelve men and nine horses had
fallen. Three of the animals were galloping away at a furious pace, and
one of them was dragging the dead body of its rider, which rebounded
violently from the ground; his foot had caught in the stirrup.
"One of the soldiers behind me gave a terrible laugh and said: 'There
will be some widows there!'
"Perhaps he was married. A third added: 'It did not take long!'
"A head emerged from the litter.
"'What is the matter?' she asked; 'are you fighting?'
"'It is nothing, mademoiselle,' I replied; 'we have got rid of a dozen
Prussians!'
"'Poor fellows!' she said. But as she was cold, she quickly disappeared
beneath the cloaks again, and we started off once more. We marched on
for a long time, and at last the sky began to grow lighter. The snow
became quite clear, luminous and glistening, and a rosy tint appeared in

the east. Suddenly a voice in the distance cried:
"'Who goes there?'
"The whole detachment halted, and I advanced to give the countersign.
We had reached the French lines, and, as my men defiled before the
outpost, a commandant on horseback, whom I had informed of what
had taken place, asked in a sonorous voice, as he saw the litter pass him:
'What have you in there?'
"And immediately a small head covered with light hair appeared,
dishevelled and smiling, and replied:
"'It is I, monsieur.'
"At this the men raised a hearty laugh, and we felt quite light-hearted,
while Pratique, who was walking by the side of the litter, waved his
kepi and shouted:
"'Vive la France!' And I felt really affected. I do not know why, except
that I thought it a pretty and gallant thing to say.
"It seemed to me as if we had just saved the whole of France and had
done something that other men could not have done, something simple
and really patriotic. I shall never forget that little face, you may be sure;
and if I had to give my opinion about abolishing drums, trumpets and
bugles, I should propose to replace them in every regiment by a pretty
girl, and that would be even better than playing the 'Marseillaise: By
Jove! it would put some spirit into a trooper to have a Madonna like
that, a live Madonna, by the colonel's side."
He was silent for a few moments and then continued, with an air of
conviction, and nodding his head:
"All the same, we are very fond of women, we Frenchmen!"

MOTHER SAUVAGE
Fifteen years had passed since I was at Virelogne. I returned there in
the autumn to shoot with my friend Serval, who had at last rebuilt his
chateau, which the Prussians had destroyed.
I loved that district. It is one of those delightful spots which have a
sensuous charm for the eyes. You love it with a physical love. We,
whom the country enchants, keep tender memories of certain springs,
certain woods, certain pools, certain hills seen very often which have
stirred us like joyful events. Sometimes our thoughts turn back to a
corner in a forest, or the end of a bank, or an orchard filled with flowers,

seen but a single time on some bright day, yet remaining in our hearts
like the image of certain women met in the street on a spring morning
in their light, gauzy dresses, leaving in soul and body an unsatisfied
desire which is not to be forgotten, a feeling that you have just passed
by happiness.
At Virelogne I loved the whole countryside, dotted with little woods
and crossed by brooks which sparkled in the sun and looked like veins
carrying blood to the earth. You fished in them for crawfish, trout and
eels. Divine happiness! You could bathe in places and you often found
snipe among the high grass which grew along the borders of these
small water courses.
I was stepping along light as a goat, watching my two dogs running
ahead of me, Serval, a hundred metres to my right, was beating a field
of lucerne. I turned round by the thicket which forms the boundary of
the wood of Sandres and I saw a cottage in ruins.
Suddenly I remembered it as I had seen it the last time, in 1869, neat,
covered with vines, with chickens before the door. What is sadder than
a dead house, with its skeleton standing bare and sinister?
I also recalled that inside its doors, after a very tiring day, the good
woman had given me