the appearance of fulfilling the sole function for which he had been
born. You would have said that he established in his own mind some
connection or affinity between the two great passions that monopolized
his life--Ale and Revolution--and most assuredly he never dipped into
the one without thinking of the other.

Monsieur and Madame Follenvie supped at the farther end of the table.
The husband--puffing and blowing like a bursting locomotive--had too
much cold on the chest to be able to speak and eat at the same time, but
his wife never ceased talking. She described her every impression at the
arrival of the Prussians and all they did and all they said, execrating
them in the first place because they cost so much, and secondly because
she had two sons in the army. She addressed herself chiefly to the
Countess, as it flattered her to be able to say she had conversed with a
lady of quality.

She presently lowered her voice and proceeded to recount some rather
delicate matters, her husband breaking in from time to time with--"You
had much better hold your tongue, Madame Follenvie,"--to which she paid
not the slightest attention, but went on.

"Well, madame, as I was saying--these men, they do nothing but eat
potatoes and pork and pork and potatoes from morning till night. And as
for their habits--! And you should see them exercising for hours and
days together out there in the fields--It's forward march and backward
march, and turn this way and turn that. If they even worked in the
fields or mended the roads in their own country! But, no, madame, these
soldiers are no good to anybody, and the poor people have to keep them
and feed them simply that they may learn how to massacre. I know I am
only a poor ignorant old woman, but when I see these men wearing
themselves out by tramping up and down from morning till night, I cannot
help saying to myself, if there are some people who make a lot of useful
discoveries, why should others give themselves so much trouble to do
harm? After all, isn't it an abomination to kill anybody, no matter
whether they are Prussians, or English, or Poles, or French? If you
revenge yourself on some one who has harmed you that is wicked, and you
are taken up and punished; but let them shoot down our sons as if they
were game, and it is all right, and they give medals to the man who
kills the most. No, no, look you, I shall never be able to see any rhyme
or reason in that!"

"War is barbarous i