It was a full moon, however, and the
patrols at the street corners were willing to give such information
as they could. They were strangers to Vilna like Louis himself, and
not without suspicion; for this was a city which had bidden the
French welcome. There had been dancing and revelry on the outward
march. The citizens themselves were afraid of the strange, wild-
eyed men who returned to them from Moscow.
At last, in the Episcopal Palace, where head-quarters had been
hurriedly established, Louis found the man he sought, the officer in
charge of the arrangements for despatching prisoners into Russia and
to Siberia. He was a grizzled warrior of the old school, speaking
only French and Russian. He was tired out and hungry, but he
listened to Louis' story.
"There is the list," he said, "it is more or less complete. Many
have called themselves officers who never held a commission from the
Emperor Napoleon. But we have done what we can to sort them out."
So Louis sat down in the dimly lighted room and deciphered the names
of those officers who had been left behind, detained by illness or
wounds or the lack of spirit to persevere.
"You understand," said the Russian, returning to his work, "I cannot
afford the time to help you. We have twenty-five thousand prisoners
to feed and keep alive."
"Yes--I understand," answered Louis, who had the seaman's way of
making himself a part of his surroundings.
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