Maurice was
trying with naked eye to pierce the forest and the rolling
ground beyond, and waiting for the roar of the guns.
Orders had been issued for the gunners to get the range and
commence firing; but as the gunners seemed over long in getting
down to work, Maurice gazed around impatiently. The blood rushed
into his heart. For this is what he saw: the infantry leaning
indolently on their guns, their officers snipping the grasses
with their swords; the cuirassiers hidden in the bulk of the
native cavalry; artillerymen seated carelessly on the caissons,
and the gunners smoking and leaning against the guns. All action
was gone, as if by magic; nothing but a strange tableau remained!
Moreover, a troop of native cavalry, which, for no apparent
reason, had not joined the main body, had closed in on the
general staff. Appalled by a sudden thought, Maurice touched the
prince, who lowered his glasses and turned his head.
Bewilderment widened his eyes, and the flush on his cheeks died
away. He, too, saw.
"Devil's name!" the Marshal burst forth, "why don't the
blockheads shoot? The enemy--" He stopped, his chin fell, for,
as he turned, a single glance explained all to him.
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