I saw this horse but lately in the middle of the regiment--I know him by the white in his mane--rearing and whinnying like the true battle-chargers; and now, broken somewhere, he is silent as the truly unhappy are.

Once again, I recall the red deer's little one, mutilated on its carpet of fresh crimson, and the emotion which I had not on that bygone day rises into my throat.

Animals are innocence incarnate.
This horse is like an enormous child, and if one wanted to point out life's innocence face to face, one would have to typify, not a little child, but a horse.

My neck gives way, I utter a groan, and my face gropes upon the ground.
The animal's start has altered my place and shot me on my side, nearer still to the man who was talking.

He has unbent, and is lying on his back.