The unfortunate women who still managed to drag on a miserable existence suffered, if possible, still more. “Throughout this terrible march,” says Madame Fusil, “I said to myself each day that I should probably not see the end of it; but I could not tell by what death I should die. When we halted and camped in the hope of warming ourselves and eating something, we generally sat on the bodies of those who had fallen victims to the cold, settling ourselves upon them with as little concern as if they were so many sofas. All day long one might hear people exclaiming—‘Great heavens, my purse has been stolen!’ or ‘my bag,’ or ‘my bread,’ or ‘my horse.’ It was just the same with every one, from generals to privates. People were perpetually trying to push their way through the crowd, with—‘Room for Marshal So-and-so’s carriage!’ or ‘His Excellency So-and-so’s,’ or ‘General So-and-so’s.’ When there was a bridge to be crossed, generals and colonels would range themselves on either side, in spite of the general confusion, so as to expedite the passage of their own vehicles as much as possible, for the Cossacks were never far off.” “The Frenchwomen who had fled from Moscow to escape the vengeance of the Russians,” says Labaume, “and who had counted on perfect safety in our midst, presented a most pitiable spectacle. Most of them had to go on foot, shod in summer shoes and clad in the flimsiest of silks and satins, in torn fur cloaks and military great-coats taken from the shoulders of the dead. Their plight would have been enough to wring tears from the hardest heart had not every sentiment of sympathy been stifled by each man’s individual privations. “Of all the victims of this war, not one presents such an interesting figure as the young and lovely Fanny. Modest, amiable, and witty, a talented linguist, adorned with qualities calculated to captivate the least impressionable—she was reduced to begging for the slightest services almost upon her knees, and compelled to pay for every crust of bread at the price of her shame. Her benefactors abused their position to demand the most debasing return for the nourishment they afforded her. I saw her at Smolensk unable to walk, clinging to a horse’s tail, until she fell at last upon the snow, and there she probably remained, her fate provoking no sign of sympathy or look of pity.”