Only a broken gun-carriage and two or three holes
in the earth which, surrounded by a loose wall of yellow clay, looked
like new-made graves, lent the plain something of the character and
local colouring of a battle-field. The ear had a larger share in the
mighty work of the day than the eye. From the sides, the front, the
rear, everywhere, cannon thundered, at a short distance on the right
echoed the rattle of a sharp fire of musketry, while the terrible,
ceaseless roar which filled the air alternately swelled and sank, like
the rising and falling flood of melody of a vast orchestra, during the
storm of the pastoral symphony.
A number of officers had assembled on a little mound in front of the
regiment of dragoons, whence they were attentively watching the French.
Among them a major stood smoking a cigarette and gazing dreamily into
vacancy. He was a man a little under thirty, with a slender figure,
somewhat above middle height, and a pale, narrow face, to which cold
grey eyes, and a scornful expression resting upon the colourless lips
shaded by a blond mustache inclining to red, lent a stern, by no means
winning expression.
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