the body, reeled and fell: the rider of it sank an instant, then shook himself free and rose.
It was he—at last!
He knew me, and I him, even in that mad moment.
I sprang upon him like a beast; my sword was at his throat; the smoke was all around us; no one saw; he was disarmed and in my power.
My men shouted together, "En avant! en avant!" They thought they were victorious.
I heard, I remembered: he too fought for France. I dared not slay him. I let him go.
"Afterwards! afterwards!" I said in his ear. He knew well what I meant.
He caught a loose charger that galloped snorting by; he seized his fallen sabre; he swept onward with his troops; I charged in line with my own men. With the roar of the firing in my ear, and the shouts of our fancied triumph, I pressed onward and downward into the ranks of the enemy: then I dropped senseless.
When the surgeon found me at dawn the next day, I had no wound on me.
For the victory—it had lived only in vanquished soldiers' dreams, as all the victories of France have lived in this bitter season.
I woke to consciousness and to remembrance,
