That night they have to fight for their quarters in the village of Malodeczno, and use their artillery for the last time, being compelled to abandon it for the want of horses. Boleslaw is killed in the action. Soon afterwards, the Emperor leaves the army, and his departure dispirits even those who admit its propriety. Things get worse and worse. Often, after a fatiguing day’s march, no shelter is obtainable, and Bianca and her tender charge are fain to brave the inclemency of the bivouac, whilst the men watch by turns to keep off wolves and marauders. One night, when performing this duty, Jaromir is startled by a loud laugh, sounding strangely horrible in that scene of misery and desolation. “From out of the surrounding darkness a grim figure stalked into the circle of fire-light. It was a gigantic cuirassier, wrapped in a tattered cloak, a bloody cloth bound round his head beneath his helmet. In his hand he carried a young fir tree, as a staff to support his steps. “‘Good evening,’ he said, in a hollow voice to Jaromir. ‘Good evening, comrade. You seem merry here.’ “‘What seek you?’ demanded Jaromir, amazed at this hideous apparition! ‘There is no place for you here. Begone!’ “The cuirassier stared at him with his hollow eyes, twisted his mouth into a frightful grin, and gnashed his teeth like some infuriated beast. “‘Ha, ha, ha!’ he laughed, or rather yelled; ‘Sleep you then so sound, ye idlers?’ And as he spoke he stamped with his foot on a frozen corpse upon which he stood. ‘Awake, awake!’ he cried, ‘and come with me!’ “For a moment he stood as if listening to some distant sound, then tottered painfully forward to the fire. “‘Back!’ cried Jaromir, ‘Back, or I shoot you on the spot!’ And he drew a pistol; but his hand, trembling with fever, had not strength to level it. “The lunatic stared at him with stupified indifference, his sunken features varying in their expression from a ghastly smile to the deepest misery. Jaromir gazed at him in silent horror. The huge figure stretched its lean arms out from under the cloak, and made strange and unintelligible gestures. “‘Ho! I am frozen!’ howled the human spectre at last, and shook himself. Then he clutched at the flames with his fingers, like an infant, and staggered nearer and nearer till he stood close to the circle of sleepers, far within which he extended his arms. For the first time he now seemed to feel the warmth of the fire. A low whining noise escaped him, then he suddenly exclaimed, in tones between laughing and crying, ‘To bed! to my warm bed!’ tossed his fir-tree staff far from him, stumbled forwards over the sleeping soldiers, and threw himself, in his raging madness, into the centre of the glowing pile. “‘Help, help!’ cried Jaromir, his hair erect with horror, and seizing Rasinski, he shook him with all his remaining strength. “‘What is it?’ cried Rasinski, raising himself.