When I had dismissed the orderly, I dismounted from my horse, and walked carefully along the ridge of ground, anxious to ascertain if any poor fellow still remained alive amid that dreadful heap of dead. A low brushwood covered the ground in certain places; and here I perceived but few of the cavalry had penetrated, while the infantry were all tirailleurs of the Russian Guard, bayoneted by our advancing columns. As I approached the lake the ground became more rugged and uneven; and I was about to turn back, when my eye caught the faint glimmering of a light reflected in the water. Picketing my horse where he stood, I advanced alone towards the light, which I saw now was at the foot of a little rocky crag beside the lake. As I drew near, I stopped to listen, and could distinctly hear the deep tones of a man's voice, as if broken at intervals by pain, while in his accents I thought I could trace a tone of indignant passion rather than of bodily suffering. “Leave me, leave me where I am,” cried he, peevishly. “I thought I might have had my last few moments tranquil, when I staggered thus far.” “Come, come, Comrade!” said another, in a voice of comforting; “come, thou wert never faint-hearted before. Thou hast had thy share of bruises, and cared little about them too. Art dry?” “Yes; give me another drink. Ah!” cried he, in an excited tone, “they can't stand before the cuirassiers of the Guard. _Sacrebleu!_ how proud the Petit Caporal will be of this day!” Then, dropping his voice, he muttered, “What care I who's proud? I have my billet, and must be going.” “Not so, _mon enfant_; thou'lt have the cross for thy day's work. He knows thee well; I saw him smile to-day when thou madest the salute in passing.” “Didst thou that?” said the wounded man, with eagerness; “did he smile? Ah, villain! how you can allure men to shed their heart's blood by a smile! He knows me! That he ought, and, if he but knew how I lay here now, he 'd send the best surgeon of his staff to look after me.” “That he would, and that he will; courage, and cheer up.” “No, no; I don't care for it now. I'll never go back to the regiment again; I could n't do it!” As he spoke the last words his voice became fainter and fainter, and at last was lost in a hiccup; partly, as it seemed, from emotion, and partly from bodily suffering. “_Qui vive?_” cried his companion, as the clash of my sabre announced my approach. “An officer of the Eighth Hussars,” said I, in a low voice, fearing to disturb the wounded man, as he lay with his head sunk on his knees. “Too late, Comrade! too late,” said he, in a stifled tone; “the order of route has come. I must away.” “A brave cuirassier of the Guard should never say so while he has a chance left to serve his Emperor in another field of battle.”