The W(fe of the Polish Patriot. [APRIL, 



the ranks of the newly-arrived battalions of Mareschal Victor. As they 

 passed, a voice said, in Polish, " Forward, lancers !" Aimee started 

 she looked from the wain then reseating herself, murmured, " What a 

 delusion!" But the sight of the child his food dropped, his head 

 thrown back, and his finger on his lips, in the attitude of a listener was 

 even more strangely startling to Aimee. She addressed the child, but 

 he motioned silence, and with an ear still bent towards the passing 

 troops, softly ejaculated, " Father /" The columns quickly marched 

 on. The boy, with childish forgetfulness, resumed his food ; and Aimee, 

 after vainly essaying to question the drivers, or the passers, could only 

 say, " Never did accents of the living sound so like the voice which is 

 stilled in yon grave of snow-wreaths/' She paused for a moment; then, 

 evidently answering her own thoughts, said again, " No no it is 

 impossible. By what miracle could he have reached the army of Vic- 

 tor ? The fortunate mareschal had left Smolensk ere our straggling, 

 wretched hosts entered it." 



The French reached Studzianka, on the left bank of the Beresina. 

 Aimee felt that the turning-point which must decide the fate of herself 

 and her boy, was arrived. On the effecting of that passage depended all 

 her hopes of freedom of life ; but still the thoughts of that voice 

 haunted her mind. Unable to obtain any information from those wholly 

 uninterested in her queries, she prepared her usual couch in the com- 

 fortless wain. All that night she could her.r the noise of the workmen 

 engaged in the fabrication of those bridges over which the troops were 

 to effect their dangerous passage on the succeeding days. Aimee's dreams 

 were naturally of terror and blood ; and, as a shout of triumph at length 

 aroused her senses, her arms were instinctively twined round her child. 

 She eagerly looked forth from their vehicle. The sun had scarcely risen ; 

 but by the faint rays of a dawning, whose twilight was rendered stronger 

 by drear sheets of snow which covered the ground, she could descry the 

 dreaded forces of the enemy in full retreat from the opposite bank of the 

 river. Aimee fell on her knees ; she poured out her heart in thankful- 

 ness ; and taking the little wan hands of that wasted child, clasped them 

 between her own, and held them together towards heaven with a speech- 

 less fervency of gratitude, which awed the boy into innocent and won- 

 dering silence. She continued to gaze on the hosts of cavalry who were 

 crowding towards the Beresina, and, without waiting for the completion 

 of the bridges, were swimming their horses across the river, in order to 

 obtain such a footing on the opposite bank as should enable them to 

 protect the passage of their comrades. At length the bridges were com- 

 pleted ; and ceaseless files of soldiers continued to pass over them. 

 Aimee watched them with a beating heart, hoping that the safe transfer 

 of each column rendered so much nearer the time of her own passage. 

 About noon, a shout proclaimed that the Erhperor and his guard had 

 gained the right bank of the Beresina. At this moment, the vanguard of 

 the diminished army of Prince Eugene pressed towards the river ; but 

 ere their generous chief prepared for his own passage, he appeared for 

 a moment at Aimee's vehicle. Even in the hurry of that crisis, his brief 

 word of inquiry after her welfare was addressed with his usual easy yet 

 respectful courtesy ; but there was less of the proud, military gloom of a 

 defeated Frenchman, and more of hope and animation on his counte- 

 nance, than Aimee had ever before marked in it. " A few hours of 

 farther privation, Madam a little more patience," he said, in a tone of 



