And still the army went past like a procession in a dream of hell, and every moment it became darker, until the fir trees and the rocks were being lost in blackness and the howls of the wolves sounded nearer. Presently came a woman walking with more energy than most, yet stumbling under some burden that she held in her arms. At that moment d’Espagnac suddenly recovered consciousness, and cried in a clear voice-- “Let us get on our way, my dear Marquis--we ought to be at Eger to-morrow night.” The words made the woman pause and look round. The Marquis gazed at her; he had last seen her on a white horse beneath a silver fir; and though he had forgotten her since, he had now a passionate desire that she should stop and speak to him. As if in answer to this wish, she crossed directly to the wagon. The young Count had fallen into a weak swoon again, and she looked down on him calmly. “Your friend is dying,” she said. “My God, how many more!” She sat down on a round grey stone and put her hand to her head; then the Marquis saw that she carried, wrapped to her breast, a small sick child. “You must go on,” he said, with energy. “You must not stop for us, Mademoiselle.” “I cannot walk any more,” she answered. “I am very strong, but I cannot walk farther.” “Where is your brother?” he asked. “Dead,” she replied. “Dead!” “The word seems to mean nothing. I have a child here, dying too. I thought it might be happier dying in some one’s arms.” It was exactly his own thought about Georges; he smiled with his courteous, sad sweetness, and putting the lieutenant’s head gently on one of the still rolled-up curtains, rose. “We are on the heights, are we not?” asked Carola. “I seem to have been climbing all day.” He approached her. “I think we are very high up,” he said gently. “Will you give me the child, Mademoiselle?” She resigned the pitiful burden without a word; the Marquis shuddered as he felt the frail weight in his arms. “So cold,” he murmured. “How could they bring children on such a march as this! How far have you carried him?” he added. “Since morning,” answered Carola; “and it is a girl, Monsieur.” The Marquis looked down into the tiny crumpled white face in the folds of the fur mantle, and laid the little creature down beside d’Espagnac. “What can we do?” asked the Countess, in a broken voice. “Nothing,” he answered gravely; “but if you have any strength at all, you should join the march. It is your only chance, Mademoiselle.” She shook her delicate head. “Please permit me to stay with you. We might help each other. This is very terrible--the wolves are the worst.” She set her lips, and her pinched face had a look of decided strength. “Will the army be passing all night?” she added. “I do not think so--surely there cannot be many more.” “I was thinking when they go--perhaps the wolves----” She paused. He was unused to these severe latitudes; there were wolves in France, but they had never troubled him.