was great rejoicing, and
everybody shouted, "Long live the Sixth;" the children ran out to St.
Jean to meet them, and the battalion had nowhere been better received
than here. Several old fellows wept and shouted, "Long live France."
But in spite of all that, the officers were dejected and only made
signs with their hands as if to thank the people for their kind
reception.

I stood on our door-steps while three or four hundred men filed past,
so ragged that I could not distinguish our number, but suddenly I saw
Zebede, who was marching in the rear, so thin that his long crooked
nose stood out from his face like a beak, his old cloak hanging like
fringe down his back, but he had his sergeant's stripes, and his large
bony shoulders gave him the appearance of strength. On seeing him, I
cried out so loud that it could be heard above the drums, "Zebede!"

He turned round and I sprang into his arms and he put down his gun at
the corner of the rue Fouquet. I cried like a child and he said, "Ah!
it is you, Joseph! there are two of us left then, at least."

"Yes, it is I," said I, "and I am going to marry Catherine, and you
shall be my best man."

We marched along together to the corner of the rue Houte, where old
Furst was waiting with tears in his eyes. The poor old man thought,
"Perhaps my son will come too." Seeing Zebede coming with me, he
turned suddenly into the little dark entrance to his house. On the
square, Father Klipfel and five or six others were looking at the
battalion in line. It is true they had received the notices of the
deaths, but still they thought there might be mistakes, and that their
sons did not like to write. They looked amongst them, and then went
away while the drums were beating.

They called the roll, and just at that moment the old grave-digger came
up with his little yellow velvet vest and his gray cotton cap. He
looked behind the ranks where I was talking with Zebede, who turned
round and saw him and grew quite pale, they looked at each other for an
instant, then I took his gun and the old man embraced his son. They
did not say a word, but remained in each other's arms for a long while.
Then when the battalion filed off to the right to go to the barracks,
Zebede asked permission of Captain Vidal to go home with his father,
and gave his gun to his nearest comrade. We went together to the rue
de Capucins. The old man said: "You know that grandmother is so old
that she can no lo