gallantly forward to meet their antagonists, and, if possible, to save their infantry. But it is too late. In a few moments the plain is covered with a broken crowd of soldiers. Groups rallying round their officers are swept away by flying horsemen or serried squadrons; thousands are now struggling for the ridge; in the centre the Cuirassiers are bearing all before them in the frenzy of the charge, and on the flanks the infantry, with rattling volleys, sweep away the _débris_ of the battle as leaves before the gale. Before the French reached the ridge beyond, long after the cavalry had retired to re-form, it appears that they met fresh masses of infantry hurrying forward to the assistance of their comrades; but the impetus of victory was too great to be withstood. The fresh troops became involved in the disaster of their advanced guard, and long ere mid-day De Galliffet was in secure possession of the second ridge, across which at daybreak I had seen the Germans advance. About the noontide hour both armies seemed, as it were by consent, to allow a breathing space. It was as if some invisible Marshal of the Lists had thrown down his baton. So here, behind the ridge, whilst the blazing sun passed over the meridian, lay the columns of the French. Over against them, in the rolling and open valley, but out of range, were the faint, blue, wavy lines which marked their enemy’s position. It was not till after two o’clock that I saw General de Galliffet—who had been standing alone, looking intently towards the enemy and impatiently beating his foot upon the ground—make a gesture of relief, and turning sharp to his orderly dragoon bid him bring up his horse. At the same moment the German infantry began to move. The artillery had been for some time in action. A perfect hail of shells tore up the level surface of the ridge, and our batteries were one by one retiring. Our present line of infantry is several hundred yards behind the hill, down in the valley, cooking their soup undisturbed by the shrapnel, and only a few are called up now to assist the guns against hostile skirmishers. On come the Prussians, but it is soon evident that the main attack is not against our centre. Away to the left there, where General Jamont, the trusted Commander of the 5th Corps d’Armée, holds watch and ward, the sky is red with dust, and the thunder of the guns and the rattle of musketry is threefold heavier than with us. I can see our troops moving in the valley below, from centre to left, linesmen and guns, hurrying to the point of contact. I am on the point of riding in the same direction, when one of M. de Galliffet’s aides-de-camp suggests that I have already a place in the stalls. ‘Down below,’ he says, pointing to the valley, ‘will be played the last agony of Prussia.’