"

It was Zebede's grandmother. His lips trembled. He waved his hand
without replying, and passed on with downcast face.

I shuddered at the thought of passing my home. As we neared it, my
knees trembled, and I heard some one call at the window; but I turned
my head toward the "Red Ox," and the rattle of the drums drowned the
voices.

The children ran after us, shouting:

"There goes Joseph! there goes Klipfel!"

Under the French gate, the men on guard, drawn up in line on each side,
gazed on us as we passed at shoulder arms. We passed the outposts, and
the drum ceased playing as we turned to the right. Nothing was heard
but the plash of footsteps in the mud, for the snow was melting.

We had passed the farm-house of Gerberhoff, and were going to the great
bridge, when I heard some one call me. It was the captain, who cried
from his horse:

"Very well done, young man; I am satisfied with you."

Hearing this, I could not help again bursting into tears, and the big
Furst, too, wept, as we marched along; the others, pale as marble, said
nothing. At the bridge, Zebede took out his pipe to smoke. In front
of us, the Italians talked and laughed among themselves; their three
weeks of service had accustomed them to this life.

Once on the way to Metting, more than a league from the city, as we
began to descend, Klipfel touched me on the shoulder, and whispered:

"Look yonder."

I looked, and saw Phalsbourg far beneath us; the barracks, the
magazines, the steeple whence I had seen Catharine's home six weeks
before, with old Brainstein--all were in the gray distance, with the
woods all around. I would have stopped a few moments, but the squad
marched on, and I had to keep pace with them. We entered Metting.

VIII

That same day we went as far as Bitche; the next, to Hornbach; then to
Kaiserslautern. It began to snow again.

How often during that long march did I sigh for the thick cloak of
Monsieur Goulden, and his double-soled shoes.

We passed through innumerable villages, sometimes on the mountains,
sometimes in the plains. As we entered each little town, the drums
began to beat, and we marched with heads erect, marking the step,
trying to assume the mien of old soldiers. The people looked out of
their little windows, or came to the doors, saying, "There go the
conscripts!"

At night we halted, glad to rest our weary feet--I, especially. I
cannot say that my leg hurt me, but my feet! I