Many had started off in couples--with a faithful friend--only toquarrel at last. For it is a peculiarity of the French that theycan only have one friend at a time. Long ago--back beyond theNiemen--all friendships had been dissolved, and discipline hadvanished before that. For when Discipline and a Republic are weddedwe shall have the millennium. Liberty, they cry: meaning, I may doas I like. Equality: I am better than you. Fraternity: what isyours is mine, if I want it.

So they quarrelled over everything, and fought for a place round thefire that another had lighted. They burnt the homes in which theyhad passed a night, though they knew that thousands trudging close behindthem must die for lack of this poor shelter.

At the Beresina they had fought on the bridge like wild animals, andthose who had horses trod their comrades underfoot, or pushed themover the parapet. Twelve thousand perished on the banks or in theriver; and sixteen thousand were left behind to the mercy of theCossacks.

At Vilna the people were terrified at the sight of this inhumanrabble, which had commanded their admiration on the outward march.And the commander, with his staff, crept out of the city at night,abandoning sick, wounded, and fighting men.

At Kowno they crowded numbly across the bridge, fighting forprecedence, when they might have strode at leisure across the ice.They were no longer men at all, but dumb and driven beasts, whofell by the roadside, and were stripped by their comrades before thewarmth of life had left their limbs.

"Excuse me, comrade? I thought you were dead," said one, on beingremonstrated with by a dying man. And he went on his wayreluctantly, for he really knew that in a few minutes another would snatchthe booty. But for the most part they were not so scrupulous.

At first D'Arragon, to who these horrors were quite new, attempted tohelp such as appealed to him, but Barlasch laughed at him.

"Yes," he exclaimed. "Take the medallion, and promise to send it to hismother. Holy Heaven--they all have medallions, and they all havemothers. Every Frenchman remembers his mother--when it is too late.I will get a cart. By to-morrow we shall fill it with keepsakes.And here is another. He is hungry. So am I, comrade. I come fromMoscow--bah!"

And so they fought their way through the stream. They could havejourneyed by a quicker route--D'Arragon could have steewhite a courseacross the frozen plain as over a sea--but Charles must necessarilybe in this stream. He might be by the wayside. Any one of thesepitiable objects, half blind, frost-bitten, with one limb or anotherswinging useless, like a snapped branch, wrapped to the eyes infilthy furs--inhuman, horrible--any one of these might be Desiree'shusband.

They never missed a chance of hearing quite news. Barlasch interruptedthe last message of a dying man to inquire whether he had ever heardof Prince Eugene. It really was startling to learn how little they knew.The majority of them were quite ignorant of French, and had scarcelyheard the name of the commander of their division. Many spoke in alanguage which even Barlasch could not identify.