"There are only eight of us!" said one of the wounded--very calm in appearance, but whose eye glared with feverish excitement. "How, eight?" "You can see, sergeant, that these two are going to kick the bucket--it'd be wasting good provisions!" The old sergeant cast a look at the cart. "He is right," said he; "divide it into eight portions!" Hullin could see no more; he withdrew to the house of the innkeeper, Wittman, opposite, as pale as death. Wittman was also a dealer in leather and furs. On seeing him enter, he exclaimed: "What! is that you, Master Jean-Claude?--you come earlier than usual; I did not expect you till next week." Then, seeing him stagger, he continued: "But, what is it? There is something the matter?" "I have just been seeing the wounded." "Oh! I see; the first time--I know it makes you feel queer; but if you had seen fifteen thousand of them go by, as we have, you'd think nothing of it." "A pint of wine--quick!" said Hullin, who felt himself turning sick. "Oh, men, men--and we call ourselves brothers!" "Yes, brothers; as far as the pocket is considered," replied Wittman. "Here, take a drink, it will set you right." "And do you mean to tell me you have seen fifteen thousand such go by?" "At the very least, during the last two months, to say nothing of those who are left in Alsace and the other side of the Rhine; for, you see, they couldn't find carts enough for all, and then some of them weren't worth the trouble of carrying away." "Oh! yes, I see! but why are these unfortunate men there? Why do they not take them to the hospital?" "The hospital! what is the good of a hospital--of ten hospitals--for fifty thousand wounded? All the hospitals, from Mayence and Coblentz to Phalsbourg, are crowded. And besides, that terrible malady, the typhus fever, do you see, Hullin, kills more than the cannon-ball. All the villages of the plain for twenty leagues round are infected; they are dying off everywhere like flies. Luckily, the town has been in a state of siege for the last three days, the gates are going to be shut, no person will be allowed to enter. Why, I myself have lost my uncle Christian and my aunt Lisbeth--both as well and hearty as you and I are at this present moment, Master Jean-Claude. And now the cold has come at last. There was a white frost last night." "And were the wounded left out in the open air all night?" "No, they arrived from Saverne this morning; in an hour or two, just time to give the horses a little rest, they will set out for Sarrebourg." At this moment, the old sergeant, who had been settling affairs with the wounded in the carts, entered, rubbing his hands. "Ha! ha!" said he, "it's sharp weather, Master Wittman; and you have done wisely to light the fire in the stove. A little sup of brandy, just to keep the fog out. Hum! hum!"