eemed yet deeper
than in the morning, and the night made it seem terrible. A few stars
shone between the masses of white cloud that hung over the city. All
along the street I met not a soul, and when I reached home, after
shutting the door of our lower passage, it seemed warm to me, although
the little stream that ran from the yard along the wall was frozen. I
stopped a moment to take breath; then I ascended in the dark, my hand
on the baluster.

When I opened the door of my room, the cheerful warmth of the stove was
grateful indeed. Monsieur Goulden was seated in his arm-chair before
the fire, his cap of black silk pulled over his ears, and his hands
resting upon his knees.

"Is that you, Joseph?" he asked without turning round.

"It is," I answered. "How pleasant it is here, and how cold out of
doors! We never had such a winter."

"No," he said gravely. "It is a winter that will long be remembered."

I went into the closet and hung the cloak and mittens in their places,
and was about relating my adventure with Pinacle, when he resumed:

"You had a pleasant day of it, Joseph."

"I have had, indeed. Aunt Gredel and Catharine wished me to make you
their compliments."

"Very good, very good," said he; "the young are right to amuse
themselves, for when they grow old, and suffer, and see so much of
injustice, selfishness, and misfortune, everything is spoiled in
advance."

He spoke as if talking to himself, gazing at the fire. I had never
seen him so sad, and I asked:

"Are you not well, Monsieur Goulden?"

But he, without replying, murmured:

"Yes, yes; this is to be a great military nation; this is glory!"

He shook his head and bent over gloomily, his heavy gray brows
contracted in a frown.

I knew not what to think of all this, when raising his head again, he
said:

"At this moment, Joseph, there are four hundred thousand families
weeping in France; the grand army has perished in the snows of Russia;
all those stout young men whom for two months we saw passing our gates
are buried beneath them. The news came this afternoon. Oh! it is
horrible! horrible!"

I was silent. Now I saw clearly that we must have another
conscription, as after all campaigns, and this time the lame would most
probably be called. I grew pale, and Pinacle's prophecy made my hair
stand on end.

"Go to bed, Joseph; rest easy," said Monsieur Goulden. "I am not
sleepy; I will stay here; all this upsets me. Did you