But scarcely had he reached the first wagon, when the huge carabineer with the sunken cheeks plunged his arm to the elbow in the boiling pot, seized a piece of meat, and concealed it beneath his jacket. It was done like a flash, and savage cries arose on all sides. Men who had not strength enough to move would have strangled their comrade. He pressed the precious morsel to his breast, his teeth were already in it, and he glared around like a wild beast. At the cries which arose, an old soldier--a sergeant--sprang from a neighboring wagon; he understood all at a glance, and without useless delay tore the meat from the carabineer, saying: "Thou deservest to have none. Let us divide; it will make ten rations." {29} "We are only eight," said a wounded man, calm in appearance, but with eyes glistening in his bronzed face. "You see, sergeant, that those two there are dying; it is no use to waste food." The sergeant looked. "You are right," he replied. "Eight parts." Hullin could bear no more. He fled, pale as death, to the innkeeper, Wittmann's. Wittmann was also a dealer in leather and furs, and cried, as he saw him enter: "Ha! it is you, Master Jean-Claude; you are earlier than usual. I did not expect you before next week." Then, seeing him tremble, he asked: "But what is the matter? You are ill." "I have just been looking at the wounded." "Ah! yes. The first time it affects one; but if you had seen fifteen thousand pass, as I have, you would think nothing of it." "A glass of wine, quick!" cried Hullin. "O men, men! you who should be brothers!" "Yes, brothers until the purse gives out," replied Wittmann. "There, drink, and you will feel better." "And you have seen fifteen thousand of these wretches pass," said the sabot-maker. "At least; and all in the last two months, without speaking of those that remained in Alsace and on the other side of the Rhine; for, you know, wagons could not be procured for all, and it was not worth while removing many." "Yes, I understand. But why are those unfortunates there? Why are they not in the hospital?" "The hospital! Where are there hospitals enough for them--for fifty thousand wounded? Every one, from Mayence and Coblentz to Phalsbourg, is crowded; and, moreover, that terrible sickness, typhus, kills more than the enemy's bullets. All the villages in the plain, for twenty leagues around, are infected, and men die like flies. Happily, the city has been for three days in a state of siege, and they are about to close the gates, and allow no one to enter. I have lost my uncle Christian and my aunt Lisbeth, as hale, hearty people as you or I, Jean-Claude. The cold has come, too; there was a white frost last night." "And the wounded were in the street all night?" "No; they came from Saverne this morning, and in an hour or two--as soon as the horses are rested--they will depart for Sarrebourg." At this instant, the old sergeant, who had established order in the wagon, entered, rubbing his hands.