raised aloft, and as the driving, vaporous rack eddied and swirled
about them, they shone like a radiant vision of glory emblazoned on
the heavens, soon to fade and vanish from the sight. Water was
dripping from the gilded eagle, and the tattered, shot-riddled
tri-color, on which were embroidered the names of former victories,
was stained and its bright hues dimmed by the smoke of many a
battlefield; the sole bit of brilliant color in all the faded splendor
was the enameled cross of honor that was attached to the _cravate_.

Another billow of vapor came scurrying up from the river, enshrouding
in its fleecy depths colonel, standard, and all, and the battalion
passed on, whitherward no one could tell. First their route had
conducted them over descending ground, now they were climbing a hill.
On reaching the summit the command, halt! started at the front and ran
down the column; the men were cautioned not to leave the ranks, arms
were ordered, and there they remained, the heavy knapsacks forming a
grievous burden to weary shoulders. It was evident that they were on a
plateau, but to discern localities was out of the question; twenty
paces was the extreme range of vision. It was now seven o'clock; the
sound of firing reached them more distinctly, other batteries were
apparently opening on Sedan from the opposite bank.

"Oh! I," said Sergeant Sapin with a start, addressing Jean and
Maurice, "I shall be killed to-day."

It was the first time he had opened his lips that morning; an
expression of dreamy melancholy had rested on his thin face, with its
big, handsome eyes and thin, pinched nose.

"What an idea!" Jean exclaimed; "who can tell what is going to happen