Georges d’Espagnac continued his song; he seemed in a happy dream. Presently he fell asleep, resting his head against the shoulder of the other lieutenant. M. de Biron and the second captain either slept also or made a good feint of it. The Marquis rose and took the lantern from the wall; it was unbearable to him to sit there in the darkness, amid this silent company, while there was so much to do outside. The thought of his hungry men pricked him. The food wagons must have overlooked them. It was surely possible to find some member of the commissariat department. The army could not have reached already such a pitch of confusion. He stepped softly from under the canvas. To his great relief he found that the snow had almost ceased, but the air was glacial. As he paused, endeavouring to see his way by means of the poor rays of the lantern, his horse gave a low whinny after him. The Marquis felt another pang--the poor brutes must be hungry too. He began to descend the rocky path; he was cold even through his heavy fur mantle, and his hands were stiff despite his fur gloves. The path was wet and slippery, half frozen already, though the snow had only lain a moment. In every crevice and hole in the rocks the soldiers were lying or sitting; many of them were wrapped in the tent canvases and horses’ blankets; here and there was a dead mule with a man lying close for warmth, or a wounded trooper dying helplessly in his stiffening blood. The Marquis saw these sights intermittently and imperfectly by the wavering light of his lantern. He set his teeth; after nine years’ service he was still sensitive to sights of horror. When he reached the level ground by the river that was the principal camping ground, he stopped bewildered amidst utter confusion. There were neither tents, nor sentries, nor outposts, merely thousands of men, lying abandoned to cold and hunger, amidst useless wagons of furniture; and as the Marquis moved slowly across the field he saw no other sight than this. What might lie beyond the range of his lantern he could not tell, but all he could see seemed abandoned to despair. A man leading a mule knocked up against him; he also held a feeble lantern; his dress and the chests the mule carried showed him to be a surgeon. “This is a pitiful sight, Monsieur,” he said. “Most of the wagons were lost in that storm yesterday, and how am I to work with nothing?” He lifted his shoulders and repeated, “with nothing?” “Is there no food?” asked the Marquis. “In Pürgitz, yes--but who is to distribute it on such a night?” “We are like to have worse nights. Is M. de Belleisle in Pürgitz?” “And some regiments. They are in luck, Monsieur.” M. de Vauvenargues stood thoughtfully, and the surgeon passed on. Two officers rode up on horseback, attended by a soldier with a torch; the Marquis accosted them.