"But the officer----" Louise hesitated. "Bah--he is no excuse; Monsieur the under bone-sawer," continued the fellow, addressing the doctor's assistant busy operating at his elbow, "see to this officer this shirker speaks of." "I have seen him," said the man; "he may come through or he may not, but in any case we desire no loafers in hospital, the space is too confined already." "I am ordered to leave you, mon Capitaine," said Louise, entering Henri's room; "I pray God you may recover; farewell, Monsieur; I will remember your message." "Yes--if I die, only!" said Henri; "not if I come through this and the rest of the war. I feel sick enough to-day--I wish they would leave you, _mon ami_, to look after me." "They will not, they call me shirker for remaining only one night! Do not----" Louise was about to say "do not forget me," but she thought better of it and altered the sentence to "do not fail to get well". "Not I--if it depends upon me--_au revoir, mon ami_, let us say, at Moscow!" Louise left the little house with a heavy heart. "For God's sake keep an eye upon Monsieur le Capitaine," she said at parting to the little _feldscher_, or under-surgeon, who replied with a laugh:-- "_Tiens_, my friend, you are wonderfully anxious about the young man; one would think you were a woman!" There was no _arrière pensée_ about the remark, but poor Louise went away blushing terribly and very angry with herself for allowing herself to yield to so feminine a weakness. Would the Baron survive? That was the question which throbbed for an answer with every beat of her heart. If he survived and remembered the love which he professed to have felt for the daughter of the old _maître d'armes_, oh! thought Louise, how heavenly a place the dull earth would become. If he should not survive--well, let the first Russian bullet find its home in her heart, for all she would care to live on! And yet, Louise felt, even without Henri life was a thousand times more beautiful now that she had certain sweet memories to draw upon. "The most Holy Spirit," she reflected, "must have inspired him with that message--oh! to think that I, of all others, should have been chosen for its recipient: a message to myself, delivered into my keeping for my comfort--an inspiration in truth and indeed!" Meanwhile the army of Napoleon, constantly dwindling, advanced daily farther and farther into the interior of Russia. Napoleon felt that he was being enticed forward, but there was no thought of retreating. On the contrary, successes were achieved daily, though great events were rare. The policy of the Russian commanders was still that of retreat, laying waste the country as they went. The faithful peasants aided and abetted them. Every man proved himself a patriot. "Only let us know the right moment," they declared, "and every hut in the village shall burn to the ground, every acre of corn shall be destroyed before the detested foreigner arrives to eat the fruit of our labours."