long as the houses were there to afford him shelter he took advantage
of every doorway, of every bit of projecting wall, shrinking at every
volley into cavities that were ridiculously small in comparison with
his bulk. He turned and twisted in and out with the sinuous dexterity
of the serpent; he would never have supposed that there was so much of
his youthful agility left in him. When he reached the end of the
village, however, and had to make his way for a space of some three
hundred yards along the deserted, empty road, swept by the batteries
on Liry hill, although the perspiration was streaming from his face
and body, he shivered and his teeth chattered. For a minute or so he
advanced cautiously along the bed of a dry ditch, bent almost double,
then, suddenly forsaking the protecting shelter, burst into the open
and ran for it with might and main, wildly, aimlessly, his ears
ringing with detonations that sounded to him like thunder-claps. His
eyes burned like coals of fire; it seemed to him that he was wrapt in
flame. It was an eternity of torture. Then he suddenly caught sight of
a little house to his left, and he rushed for the friendly refuge,
gained it, with a sensation as if an immense load had been lifted from
his breast. The place was tenanted, there were men and horses there.
At first he could distinguish nothing. What he beheld subsequently
filled him with amazement.

Was not that the Emperor, attended by his brilliant staff? He
hesitated, although for the last two days he had been boasting of his
acquaintance with him, then stood staring, open-mouthed. It was indeed
Napoleon III.; he appeared larger, somehow, and more imposing on
horseback, and his mustache was so stiffly waxed, there was such a
brilliant color on his cheeks, that Delaherche saw at once he had been
"made up" and painted like an actor. He had had recourse to cosmetics
to conceal from his army the ravages that anxiety and illness had