If the firing died for a little space he was in deep despair, but his soul leaped up again as the charge came anew.

It was certainly victory this time.

Hope could not be crushed in him.

His vivid fancy made him hear above the triumphant shouts of the French the deep cheers of the advancing army, the beating of drums and the playing of invisible bands.
All the time, whether in attack or retreat, the smoke continued to increase and to inflame and excite.

It was like a gas, its taste was acrid and bitter as death.