Whom could they be speaking of? All at once Delaherche realised that they must be referring to Marshal MacMahon, wounded whilst on his way to the outposts. The marshal wounded! Such was our cursed luck, as the lieutenant of Marine Infantry had said. And the manufacturer was reflecting on the consequences of this unfortunate casualty when an estafette galloped by with reins down, and shouted to a comrade whom he recognised: 'General Ducrot is commander-in-chief. The entire army is to concentrate at Illy, to retreat on Mézières!' The next moment the estafette was already far away, entering Bazeilles under a fire of increasing intensity, and Delaherche, scared by the extraordinary tidings that had reached him in such rapid succession, and liable to find himself caught in the midst of the retreating troops, at last made up his mind to start off again, and ran all the way to Balan, whence he managed to reach Sedan without any very great difficulty. And, meantime, the estafette was still galloping through Bazeilles, seeking the commanders that he might give them their orders. And the tidings were also galloping along--Marshal MacMahon wounded, General Ducrot appointed commander-in-chief, the whole army to fall back on Illy! 'What! what are they saying?' exclaimed Weiss, already black with powder. 'Retreat on Mézières at this time of day? Why, it's madness; the army could not possibly get through!' He was in despair, full of remorse that he himself had advised that very course the day before, and had advised it precisely to General Ducrot, who was now invested with the supreme command. Certainly, on the previous day there was no other reasonable plan to follow. The army ought to have retreated, retreated immediately by the defile of St. Albert. But at the present time the road must be intercepted by all that black swarm of Prussians that had streamed along, over yonder, towards the plain of Donchery. And, madness for madness, the only truly valiant, desperate course was to hurl the Bavarians into the Meuse, pass over them, and march once more on Carignan. Hitching up his falling spectacles every minute with a touch of his finger-tips, Weiss explained the position of affairs to the lieutenant, who was still seated there with his limbs shattered and his back against the door. He was now looking extremely pale, however--indeed he was dying from loss of blood. 'I assure you that I'm right, lieutenant,' said Weiss. 'Tell your men to keep firm. You can see that we are victorious. Another effort and we shall fling them into the Meuse.'