ad, and as he had lost his knife, he
bit off a morsel and slowly ate it.

But after a few mouthfuls, he had enough of it; the bread was hard and had
a bitter taste. No fresh would be given until the next morning's
distribution, so the commissary officer had willed it. This was certainly
a very hard life sometimes. The remembrance of former breakfasts came to
him, such as he had called "hygienic," when, the day after too over-heating
a supper, he would seat himself by a window on the ground floor of
the Cafe-Anglais, and be served with a cutlet, or buttered eggs with
asparagus tips, and the butler, knowing his tastes, would bring him a fine
bottle of old Leoville, lying in its basket, and which he would pour out
with the greatest care. The deuce take it! That was a good time, all the
same, and he would never become accustomed to this life of wretchedness.

And, in a moment of impatience, the young man threw the rest of his bread
into the mud.

At the same moment a soldier of the line came from the tavern, stooped and
picked up the bread, drew back a few steps, wiped it with his sleeve and
began to devour it eagerly.

Henri de Hardimont was already ashamed of his action, and now with a
feeling of pity, watched the poor devil who gave proof of such a good
appetite. He was a tall, large young fellow, but badly made; with feverish
eyes and a hospital beard, and so thin that his shoulder-blades stood out
beneath his well-worn cape.

"You are very hungry?" he said, approaching the soldier.

"As you see," replied the other with his mouth full.

"Excuse me then. For if I had known that you would like the bread, I would
not have thrown it away."

"It does not harm it," replied the soldier, "I am not dainty."

"No matter," said the gentleman, "it was wrong to do so, and I reproach
myself. But I do not wish you to have a bad opinion of me, and as I have
some old cognac in my can, let us drink a drop together."

The man had finished eating. The duke and he drank a mouthful of brandy;
the acquaintance was made.

"What is your name?" asked the soldier of the line.

"Hardimont," replied the duke, omitting his title. "And yours?"

"Jean-Victor--I have just entered this company--I am just out of the
ambulance--I was wounded at Chatillon--oh! but it was good in the
ambulance, and in the infirmary they gave me horse bouillon. But I had
only a scratch, and the major signed my dismissal. So much the worse for
me! Now I am goin