When they reached Authe the sky cleared, and Maurice, to whom the sun served as a guide, observed that instead of proceeding any farther in the direction of Le Chêne--three long leagues away--they now went straight towards the east. It was two in the afternoon, and after shivering for a couple of days under the rain the men now began to suffer from the oppressive heat. The road wound with long bends across some deserted plains. Not a house, not a living being was to be seen; only a few little woods relieved the monotony of the barren expanse; and the mournful silence prevailing in this solitude infected the sweating soldiers, as with their heads drooping they wearily dragged themselves along. At last they caught sight of St. Pierremont, a cluster of deserted houses on a monticle. They did not pass the village, however; indeed Maurice noticed that they wheeled at once to the left, taking a northerly direction towards La Besace. He now realised what route had been selected for this attempt to reach Mouzon before the Prussians arrived there. But could they succeed in the effort, with troops so weary and so demoralised? This seemed the more doubtful, as at St. Pierremont the three Uhlans again appeared in the distance at the bend of a road coming from Buzancy; and, moreover, just as the French rear-guard was leaving the village a hostile battery was unmasked, and a few shells fell, without, however, doing any harm. The French did not answer the fire, but continued their march with increasing difficulty. There are three long leagues from St. Pierremont to La Besace, and Jean, on learning this from Maurice, made a gesture of despair. The men could never go that distance; he could tell that by sure and certain signs--their hard breathing, and the wild look on their faces. The road moreover was a steep one, running between two ridges, which gradually drew nearer to one another. At last a halt became necessary; but, unfortunately, this rest increased the stiffness of the men's limbs, and when orders were given to start again matters became even worse than before. The regiments no longer made way, and many men fell to the ground. Jean, who noticed that Maurice was growing pale, with his eyes dimmed by weariness, began talking, contrary to his wont, hoping that by a flow of words he would manage to divert the young fellow, and keep him awake amid the mechanical tramp, tramp of the march, of which the men had now ceased to have any mental perception. 'So your sister lives at Sedan,' said Jean; 'perhaps we shall pass that way.' 'Through Sedan? Never, that's not our road; they would be madmen to take us there.' 'Is your sister young?' 'She's as old as I am. I told you we were twins.' 'And is she like you?' 'Yes, she's fair like me, but with such soft, curly hair. She's very slight, with a thin face, and so quiet. Ah! my poor Henriette.' 'You are very fond of one another?' 'Yes--yes.'