The fight is over; the enemy driven back. In the warm sunshine a sorrowful procession moves through the city--the imprisoned enemy escorted by Cossacks. Hardheartedly do the troopers drive the weary crowd; they are allowed only a short rest in the open place of the suburb; the prisoners lie exhausted, weary and half fainting, in the dust of the high road. It is the second day on which they have had neither food nor drink; not once have their guards allowed them a drink from brook or ditch; they have ill-treated the weary men with blows and thrusts of their lances. These now, with outstretched hands, pour forth entreaties in their own language to the citizens, who stand round with curiosity and sympathy. They are, for the most part, young Frenchmen who are here lamenting, poor boys, with pale and haggard faces. The citizens hasten to them with food and drink; ample piles of bread are brought; but the Russians are hungry themselves; they roughly push back the approaching people, and tear their gifts from them. Then the women put baskets and flasks into the hands of their children. A courageous lad springs forward; the little troop of maidens and young boys trip amongst the prisoners, who are lying on the ground; even the youngest totter bravely from man to man, and distribute their gifts smilingly, unconcerned about their bearded guards,[58] for the Cossack does no injury to children. The German is not unkind to his enemy. When anyone carries a wounded countryman to his house, how faithfully and carefully he nurses him. The family treat him as they would their own son or brother who is far away in the king's army. The best room and a soft bed is prepared for him, and the mistress of the house attends him herself with bandages and all necessary care.