Winter had given me the lantern so as to run faster; I followed at a distance, thinking to myself: "Moses, if this man is taken, thou will be the cause of his death." I wanted to put out the lantern, but if Winter had seen me he would have been capable of knocking me down with the butt-end of his musket. He had for a long time been hoping for the cross, and was all the time expecting it and the pension with it. The deserter ran, as I said, to the stairs. Suddenly he perceived that the ladder, which takes the place of the eight lower steps, was taken away, and he stopped, stupefied! We came nearer--he heard us and began to run faster, to the right toward the half-moon. The poor devil rolled over the snow-banks. Winter aimed at him, and called out: "Halt! Surrender!" But he got up and began to run again. Behind the outworks, under the drawbridge, we thought we had lost him: the corporal called to me, "Come along! A thousand thunders!" and at that moment we saw him leaning against the wall, as pale as death. Winter took him by the collar and said: "I have got you!" [Illustration: WINTER TOOK HIM BY THE COLLAR, AND SAID: "I HAVE YOU NOW!"] Then he tore an epaulette from his shoulder: "You are not worthy to wear that!" said he; "come along!" He dragged him out of his corner, and held the lantern before his face. We saw a handsome boy of eighteen or nineteen, tall and slender, with small, light mustaches, and blue eyes. Seeing him there so pale, with Winter's fist at his throat, I thought of the poor boy's father and mother; my heart smote me, and I could not help Baying: "Come, Winter, he is a child, a mere child! He will not do it again!" But Winter, who thought that now surely his cross was won, turned upon me furiously: "I tell thee what, Jew, stop, or I will run my bayonet through thy body!" "Wretch!" thought I, "what will not a man do to make sure of his glass of wine for the rest of his days?" I had a sort of horror of that man; there are wild beasts in the human race! Chevreux, Somme, and Dubourg did not speak. Winter began to walk toward the postern, with his hand on the deserter's collar. "If he stops," said he, "strike him on the back with your muskets! Ah, scoundrel, you desert in the face of the enemy! Your case is clear: next Sunday you will sleep under the turf of the half-moon! Will you come on? Strike him with the butt-end, you cowards!" What pained me most was to hear the poor fellow's heavy sighs; he breathed so hard, from his fright at being taken, and knowing that he would be shot, that we could hear him fifteen paces off; the sweat ran down my forehead. And now and then he turned to me and gave me such a look as I shall never forget, as if to say: "Save me!" If I had been alone with Dubourg and Chevreux, we would have let him go; but Winter would sooner have murdered him.