the four horsemen of the apocalypse-第65部分

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。　。　。　and　he　began　to　cherish　the　hope　that　he　might　get　possession　of　some　weapon　from　those　dying　around　him；　and　fall　upon　that　Junker　who　had　struck　him。

He　was　filling　his　pails　for　the　third　time；　and　murderously　contemplating　the　lieutenant's　back　when　something　occurred　so　absurd　and　unnatural　that　it　reminded　him　of　the　fantastic　flash　of　the　cinematograph；the　officer's　head　suddenly　disappeared；　two　jets　of　blood　spurted　from　his　severed　neck　and　his　body　collapsed　like　an　empty　sack。

At　the　same　time；　a　cyclone　was　sweeping　the　length　of　the　wall；　tearing　up　groves；　overturning　cannon　and　carrying　away　people　in　a　whirlwind　as　though　they　were　dry　leaves。　　He　inferred　that　Death　was　now　blowing　from　another　direction。　　Until　then；　it　had　come　from　the　front　on　the　river　side；　battling　with　the　enemy's　line　ensconced　behind　the　walls。　　Now；　with　the　swiftness　of　an　atmospheric　change；　it　was　blustering　from　the　depths　of　the　park。　A　skillful　manoeuver　of　the　aggressors；　the　use　of　a　distant　road；　a　chance　bend　in　the　German　line　had　enabled　the　French　to　collect　their　cannon　in　a　new　position；　attacking　the　occupants　of　the　castle　with　a　flank　movement。

It　was　a　lucky　thing　for　Don　Marcelo　that　he　had　lingered　a　few　moments　on　the　bank　of　the　fosse；　sheltered　by　the　bulk　of　the　edifice。　　The　fire　of　the　hidden　battery　passed　the　length　of　the　avenue；　carrying　off　the　living；　destroying　for　a　second　time　the　dead；　killing　horses；　breaking　the　wheels　of　vehicles　and　making　the　gun　carriages　fly　through　the　air　with　the　flames　of　a　volcano　in　whose　red　and　bluish　depths　black　bodies　were　leaping。　　He　saw　hundreds　of　fallen　men；　he　saw　disembowelled　horses　trampling　on　their　entrails。　　The　death　harvest　was　not　being　reaped　in　sheaves；　the　entire　field　was　being　mowed　down　with　a　single　flash　of　the　sickle。　　And　as　though　the　batteries　opposite　divined　the　catastrophe；　they　redoubled　their　fire；　sending　down　a　torrent　of　shells。　　They　fell　on　all　sides。　　Beyond　the　castle；　at　the　end　of　the　park；　craters　were　opening　in　the　woods；　vomiting　forth　the　entire　trunks　of　trees。　　The　projectiles　were　hurling　from　their　pits　the　bodies　interred　the　night　before。

Those　still　alive　were　firing　through　the　gaps　in　the　walls。　　Then　they　sprang　up　with　the　greatest　haste。　　Some　grasped　their　bayonets；　pale；　with　clamped　lips　and　a　mad　glare　in　their　eyes；　others　turned　their　backs；　running　toward　the　exit　from　the　park；　regardless　of　the　shouts　of　their　officers　and　the　revolver　shots　sent　after　the　fugitives。

All　this　occurred　with　dizzying　rapidity；　like　a　nightmare。　　On　the　other　side　of　the　wall　came　a　murmur；　swelling　in　volume；　like　that　of　the　sea。　　Desnoyers　heard　shouts；　and　it　seemed　to　him　that　some　hoarse；　discordant　voices　were　singing　the　Marseillaise。　　The　machine…guns　were　working　with　the　swift　steadiness　of　sewing　machines。　　The　attack　was　going　to　be　opposed　with　furious　resistance。　　The　Germans；　crazed　with　fury；　shot　and　shot。　　In　one　of　the　breaches　appeared　a　red　kepis　followed　by　legs　of　the　same　color　trying　to　clamber　over　the　ruins。　　But　this　vision　was　instantly　blotted　out　by　the　sprinkling　from　the　machine　guns；　making　the　invaders　fall　in　great　heaps　on　the　other　side　of　the　wall。　　Don　Marcelo　never　knew　exactly　how　the　change　took　place。　Suddenly　he　saw　the　red　trousers　within　the　park。　　With　irresistible　bounds　they　were　springing　over　the　wall；　slipping　through　the　yawning　gaps；　and　darting　out　from　the　depths　of　the　woods　by　invisible　paths。　　They　were　little　soldiers；　husky；　panting；　perspiring；　with　torn　cloaks；　and　mingled　with　them；　in　the　disorder　of　the　charge；　African　marksmen　with　devilish　eyes　and　foaming　mouths；　Zouaves　in　wide　breeches　and　chasseurs　in　blue　uniforms。

The　German　officers　wanted　to　die。　　With　upraised　swords；　after　having　exhausted　the　shots　in　their　revolvers；　they　advanced　upon　their　assailants　followed　by　the　soldiers　who　still　obeyed　them。　There　was　a　scuffle；　a　wild　melee。　　To　the　trembling　spectator；　it　seemed　as　though　the　world　had　fallen　into　profound　silence。　　The　yells　of　the　combatants；　the　thud　of　colliding　bodies；　the　clang　of　arms　seemed　as　nothing　after　the　cannon　had　quieted　down。　　He　saw　men　pierced　through　the　middle　by　gun　points　whose　reddened　ends　came　out　through　their　kidneys；　muskets　raining　hammer…like　blows；　adversaries　that　grappled　in　hand…to…hand　tussles；　rolling　over　and　over　on　the　ground；　trying　to　gain　the　advantage　by　kicks　and　bites。

The　mustard…colored　fronts　had　entirely　disappeared；　and　he　now　saw　only　backs　of　that　color　fleeing　toward　the　exit；　filtering　among　the　trees；　falling　midway　in　their　flight　when　hit　by　the　pursuing　balls。　　Many　of　the　invaders　were　unable　to　chase　the　fugitives　because　they　were　occupied　in　repelling　with　rude　thrusts　of　their　bayonets　the　bodies　falling　upon　them　in　agonizing　convulsions。

Don　Marcelo　suddenly　found　himself　in　the　very　thick　of　these　mortal　combats；　jumping　up　and　down　like　a　child；　waving　his　hands　and　shouting　with　all　his　might。　　When　he　came　to　himself　again；　he　was　hugging　the　grimy　head　of　a　young　French　officer　who　was　looking　at　him　in　astonishment。　　He　probably　thought　him　crazy　on　receiving　his　kisses；　on　hearing　his　incoherent　torrent　of　words。　　Emotionally　exhausted；　the　worn　old　man　continued　to　weep　after　the　officer　had　freed　himself　with　a　jerk。　。　。　。　　He　needed　to　give　vent　to　his　feelings　after　so　many　days　of　anguished　self…control。　　Vive　la　France！　。　。　。

His　beloved　French　were　already　within　the　park　gates。　　They　were　running；　bayonets　in　hand；　in　pursuit　of　the　last　remnants　of　the　German　battalion　trying　to　escape　toward　the　village。　　A　group　of　horsemen　passed　along　the　road。　　They　were　dragoons　coming　to　complete　the　rout。　　But　their　horses　were　fagged　out；　nothing　but　the　fever　of　victory　transmitted　from　man　to　beast　had　sustained　their　painful　pace。　　One　of　the　equestrians　came　to　a　stop　near　the　entrance　of　the　park；　the　famished　horse　eagerly　devouring　the　herbage　while　his　rider　settled　down　in　the　saddle　as　though　asleep。　Desnoyers　touched　him　on　the　hip　in　order　to　waken　him；　but　he　immediately　rolled　off　on　the　opposite　side。　　He　was　dead；　with　his　entrails　protruding　from　his　body；　but　swept　on　with　the　others；　he　had　been　brought　thus　far　on　his　steady　steed。

Enormous　tops　of　iron　and　smoke　now　began　falling　in　the　neighborhood。　　The　German　artillery　was　opening　a　retaliatory　fire　against　its　lost　positions。　　The　advance　continued。　　There　passed　toward　the　North　battalions；　squadrons　and　batteries；　worn；　weary　and　grimy；　covered　with　dust　and　mud；　but　kindled　with　an　ardor　that　galvanized　their　flagging　energy。

The　French　cannon　began　thundering　on　the　village　side。　　Bands　of　soldiers　were　exploring　the　castle　and　the　nearest　woods。　　From　the　ruined　rooms；　from　the　depths　of　the　cellars；　from　the　clumps　of　shrubbery　in　the　park；　from　the　stables　and　burned　garage；　came　surging　forth　men　dressed　in　greenish　gray　and　pointed　helmets。　They　all　threw　up　their　arms；　extending　their　open　hands：　〃Kamarades　。　。　。　kamarades；　non　kaput。〃　　With　the　restlessness　of　remorse；　they　were　in　dread　of　immediate　execution。　　They　had　suddenly　lost　all　their　haughtiness　on　finding　that　they　no　longer　had　any　official　powers　and　were　free　from　discipline。　　Some　of　those　who　knew　a　little　French；　spoke　of　their　wives　and　children；　in　order　to　soften　the　enemies　that　were　threatening　them　with　their　bayonets。　　A　brawny　Teuton　came　up　to　Desnoyers　and　clapped　him　on　the　back。　　It　was　Redbeard。　　He　pressed　his　heart　and　then　pointed　to　the　owner　of　the　castle。　　〃Franzosen　。　。　。　great　friend　of　the　Franzosen〃　。　。　。　and　he　grinned　ingratiatingly　at　his　protector。

Don　Marcelo　remained　at　the　castle　until　the　following　morning；　and　was　astounded　to　see　Georgette　and　her　mother　emerge　unexpectedly　from　the　depths　of　the　ruined　lodge。　　They　were　weeping　at　the　sight　of　the　French　uniforms。

〃It　could　not　go　on；〃　sobbed　the　widow。　　〃God　does　not　die。〃

After　a　bad　night　among　the　ruins；　the　owner　decided　to　leave　Villeblanche。　　What　was　there　for　him　to　do　now　in　the　destroyed　castle？　。　。　。　　The　presence　of　so　many　dead　was　racking　his　nerves。　There　were　hundreds；　there　were　thousands。　　The　soldiers　and　the　farmers　were　interring　great　heaps　of　them　wherever　he　went；　digging　burial　trenches　close　to　the　castle；　in　all　the　avenues　of　the　park；　in　the　garden　paths；　around　the　outbuildings。　　Even　the　depths　of　the　circular　lagoon　were　filled　with　corpses。　　How　could　he　ever　live　again　in　that　tragic　community　composed　mostly　of　his　enemies？　。　。　。　　Farewell　forever；　castle　of　Villeblanche！

He　turned　his　steps　toward　Paris；　planning　to　get　there　the　best　way　he　could。　　He　came　upon　corpses　everywhere；　but　they　were　not　all　the　gray…green　uniform。　　Many　of　his　countrymen　had　fallen　in　the　gallant　offensive。　　Many　would　still　fall　in　the　last　throes　of　the　battle　that　was　going　on　behind　them；　agitating　the　horizon　with　its　incessant　uproar。　　Everywhere　red　pantaloons　were　sticking　up　out　of　the　stubble；　hobnailed　boots　glistening　in　upright　position　near　the　roadside；　livid　heads；　amputated　bodies；　stray　limbsand；　scattered　through　this　funereal　medley；　red　kepis　and　Oriental　caps；　helmets　with　tufts　of　horse　hair；　twisted　swords；　broken　bayonets；　guns　and　great　mounds　of　cannon　cartridges。　　Dead　horses　were　strewing　the　plain　with　their　swollen　carcasses。　　Artillery　wagons　with　their　charred　wood　and　bent　iron　frames　revealed　the　tragic　moment　of　the　explosion。　　Rectangles　of　overturned　earth　marked　the　situation　of　the　enemy's　batteries　before　their　retreat。　　Amidst　the　broken　cannons　and　trucks　were　cones　of　carbonized　material；　the　remains　of　men　and　horses　burned　by　the　Germans　on　the　night　before　their　withdrawal。

In　spite　of　these　barbarian　holocausts　corpses　were　every　where　in　infinite　numbers。　　There　seemed　to　be　no　end　to　their　number；　it　seemed　as　though　the　earth　had　expelled　all　the　bodies　that　it　had　received　since　the　beginning　of　the　world。　　The　sun　was　impassively　flooding　the　fields　of　death　with　its　waves　of　light。　　In　its　yellowish　glow；　the　pieces　of　the　bayonets；　the　metal　plates；　the　fittings　of　the　guns　were　sparkling　like　bits　of　crysta