"The day before yesterday the governor decided to make an attack upon the Russian battery at the back of the tile-kiln. You know that the Russians are in the habit of breaking the ice of the tank to bathe in companies of twenty or thirty, and that they then go to dry themselves in the furnace of the brick-kiln. Good. About four o'clock, as day was departing, we went out by the postern of the arsenal, and passed through the Allée des Vaches, gun on shoulder, at a rapid trot. A few minutes after, we opened a running fire on the Cossacks who were bathing in the tank. All the rest then came out of the tile-kiln. They had only just time to catch up their cartridge-pouches, shoulder their guns, and place themselves in rank, all naked, like so many savages as they were, in the snow. But, for all that, the beggars were ten times more numerous than we, and they were just commencing a movement in the direction of the little chapel of St. Jean, in order to surround us, when the cannon from the arsenal began to pour such a hail of shot in their direction as I never saw the like of before. The grape shot carried away whole files right out of sight. At the end of a quarter of an hour, all in a body began a retreat upon Quatre-Vents, without stopping to pick up their pantaloons, the officers at the head of them, and showers of bullets bringing up the rear. Papa Jean-Claude would have laughed fit to crack his sides at the sight. At length, at night-fall we returned to the town, after having stormed the battery, and thrown two eight-pound shot into the brick-kiln. This is our first expedition. To-day, I am writing to you from the barracks of Bois-des-Chênes, where we are quartered to provision the place. All this may last for months. I have already told you that the Allies are returning by the valley of Dosenheim as far as Weschem, and that they are gaining by thousands the road to Paris. Ah! if it were only God's will that the Emperor should have the upper hand in Lorraine or in Champagne, not a single one of them would escape. However, he who lives longest sees the most. They are sounding the recall from Phalsbourg; we have not fared badly in the way of oxen, cows, and goats in the neighbourhood. There will be a little fighting to get them all in safe and sound. Farewell for the present, my good mother, my dear Louise, Papa Jean-Claude; my affectionate and loving remembrances to you all." As she finished reading, Catherine Lefévre was quite overcome with emotion. "What a brave boy!" said she; "he knows nothing but his duty. In short, you hear, Louise, he sends you his affectionate and loving remembrances." Louise then throwing herself into her arms, they gave each other a hearty embrace, and Dame Catherine, in spite of the firmness of her character, could not restrain two big tears which slowly coursed each other down her wrinkled cheeks; then recovering herself: