Some had already freed themselves from these torture cases
and were marching barefoot, with their heavy boots hanging from their
shoulders, and staining the highway with drops of blood. Although
staggering with deadly fatigue, they kept their arms and outfits,
believing that the enemy was near.
Desnoyers' liberality stupefied many of them. They were accustomed to
crossing their native soil, having to struggle with the selfishness of
the producer. Nobody had been offering anything. Fear of danger had made
the country folk hide their eatables and refuse to lend the slightest
aid to their compatriots who were fighting for them.
The millionaire slept badly this second night in his pompous bed with
columns and plushes that had belonged to Henry IV--according to the
declarations of the salesmen. The troops no longer were marching past.
From time to time there straggled by a single battalion, a battery,
a group of horsemen--the last forces of the rear guard that had taken
their position on the outskirts of the village in order to cover
the retreat. The profound silence that followed the turmoil of
transportation awoke in his mind a sense of doubt and disquietude.
What was he doing there when the soldiers had gone? Was he not crazy to
remain there? . . . But immediately there came galloping into his mind
the great riches which the castle contained.
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