How could these be the same strong horses with glossy coats that he had seen in the Paris processions at the beginning of the previous month?
A campaign of twenty days had aged and exhausted them; their dull gaze seemed to be imploring pity.

They were weak and emaciated, the outline of their skeletons so plainly apparent that it made their eyes look larger.

Their harness, as they moved, showed the skin raw and bleeding.

Yet they were pushing on with a mighty effort, concentrating their last powers, as though human demands were beyond their obscure instincts.

Some could go no further and suddenly collapsed from sheer fatigue.