Two men walked alone as scouts about three yards ahead. Then came a platoon of ten men commanded by the lieutenant himself. The rest followed them in two long columns. To the right and left of the little band, at a distance of about three hundred feet on either side, some soldiers marched in pairs. The snow, which was still falling, covered them with a white powder in the darkness, and as it did not melt on their uniforms, they were hardly distinguishable in the night amid the dead whiteness of the landscape. From time to time they halted. One heard nothing but that indescribable, nameless flutter of falling snow--a sensation rather than a sound, a vague, ominous murmur. A command was given in a low tone and when the troop resumed its march it left in its wake a sort of white phantom standing in the snow. It gradually grew fainter and finally disappeared. It was the echelons who were to lead the army. The scouts slackened their pace. Something was ahead of them. “Turn to the right,” said the lieutenant; “it is the Ronfi wood; the chateau is more to the left.” Presently the command “Halt” was passed along. The detachment stopped and waited for the lieutenant, who, accompanied by only ten men, had undertaken a reconnoitering expedition to the chateau. They advanced, creeping under the trees. Suddenly they all remained motionless. Around them was a dead silence. Then, quite near them, a little clear, musical young voice was heard amid the stillness of the wood. “Father, we shall get lost in the snow. We shall never reach Blainville.” A deeper voice replied: “Never fear, little daughter; I know the country as well as I know my pocket.” The lieutenant said a few words and four men moved away silently, like shadows. All at once a woman's shrill cry was heard through the darkness. Two prisoners were brought back, an old man and a young girl. The lieutenant questioned them, still in a low tone: “Your name?” “Pierre Bernard.” “Your profession?” “Butler to Comte de Ronfi.” “Is this your daughter?” 'Yes!' “What does she do?” “She is laundress at the chateau.” “Where are you going?” “We are making our escape.” “Why?” “Twelve Uhlans passed by this evening. They shot three keepers and hanged the gardener. I was alarmed on account of the little one.” “Whither are you bound?” “To Blainville.” “Why?” “Because there is a French army there.” “Do you know the way?” “Perfectly.” “Well then, follow us.” They rejoined the column and resumed their march across country. The old man walked in silence beside the lieutenant, his daughter walking at his side. All at once she stopped. “Father,” she said, “I am so tired I cannot go any farther.” And she sat down. She was shaking with cold and seemed about to lose consciousness. Her father wanted to carry her, but he was too old and too weak. “Lieutenant,” said he, sobbing, “we shall only impede your march. France before all. Leave us here.”