He had fallen there himself, and had been picked up by the _ambulance_ people. I thanked these persons, who told me the wretched road we must take, the best one there was, lay through this cemetery. We could now distinguish groups of people searching about, and it was all so horrible that it made me want to scream out. Suddenly, the boy who was driving us pulled my coat sleeve. “Oh, madame,” he said, “look at that scoundrel stealing!” I looked and saw a man lying down full length, with a large bag near him. He had a dark lantern, which he held toward the ground. He then got up, looked around him, for his outline could be seen distinctly on the horizon, and began his work again. When he caught sight of us he put out his lamp, and crouched down on the ground. We walked on in silence straight toward him. I took the colt by the bridle, on the other side from the boy, who no doubt understood my idea, for he let himself be guided by me. I walked straight toward the man, pretending not to know he was there. The colt backed, but we pulled hard and made it advance. We were so near to him that I shuddered at the thought that the wretch would perhaps allow himself to be trampled over by the animal and the light vehicle rather than reveal his presence. Fortunately, though, I was mistaken; a stifled voice murmured: “Take care there! I am wounded. You will run over me.” I took the gig lantern down. We had covered it with a jacket, as the moon lighted us better, and I turned it now on the face of this wretch. I was stupefied to see a man of from sixty-five to seventy years of age, with a hollow-looking face, framed with long, dirty, white whiskers. He had a muffler round his neck, and was wearing a peasant’s cloak of a dark color. Around him, shown up by the moon, were sword belts, brass buttons, sword hilts, and other objects that the infamous old man had torn from the poor dead men. “You are not wounded. You are a thief, and a violator of tombs! I shall call out and you will be killed. Do you hear that, you miserable wretch!” I exclaimed, and went so near to him that I could feel his breath sully mine. He crouched down on his knees, and, clasping his criminal hands, implored me in a trembling, tearful voice. “Leave your bag there, then,” I said, “and all those things. Empty your pockets, leave everything and go. Run, for as soon as you are out of sight I shall call one of those soldiers who are searching, and I shall give them your plunder. I know I am doing wrong, though, in letting you off and not giving you up.” He emptied his pockets, groaning all the time, and was just going away when the lad whispered: “He’s hiding some boots under his cloak.” I was furious with rage with this vile thief and I pulled his big cloak off. “Leave everything, you wretched man,” I exclaimed, “or I will call out.”