A few were fresh and vigorous, others were keeping
themselves up by supernatural effort. All were carrying arms.
They finally made the barricade, looking continually behind them, in
order to watch, in the shelter of the trees, the slow advance of the
Uhlans. At the head of this heterogeneous troop was an official of the
police, old and fat, with a revolver in his right hand, his moustache
bristling with excitement, and a murderous glitter in his heavy-lidded
blue eyes. The band was continuing its advance through the village,
slipping over to the other side of the barricade of carts without paying
much attention to their curious countryman, when suddenly sounded a loud
detonation, making the horizon vibrate and the houses tremble.
"What is that?" asked the officer, looking at Desnoyers for the first
time. He explained that it was the bridge which had just been blown up.
The leader received the news with an oath, but his confused followers,
brought together by chance, remained as indifferent as though they had
lost all contact with reality.
"Might as well die here as anywhere," continued the official. Many of
the fugitives acknowledged this decision with prompt obedience, since
it saved them the torture of continuing their march. They were
almost rejoicing at the explosion which had cut off their progress.
Instinctively they were gathering in the places most sheltered by the
barricade.
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