at at a
little distance off, and affecting--but I fear very ill--a total
indifference to what went forward.

"He is asking to what corps thou belong'st?" said another, seeing that
the question puzzled me.

"Unfortunately I have none," said I. "I merely followed the march for
curiosity."

"And thy father and mother, child--what will they say to thee on thy
return home?"

"I have neither father, nor mother, nor home," said I, promptly.

"Just like myself," said an old red-whiskered sapeur; "or if I ever had
parents, they never had the grace to own me. Come over here child, and
take share of my dinner."

"No, parbleu! I'll have him for _my_ comrade," cried the young hussar.
"I was made a corporal yesterday, and have a large ration. Sit here, my
boy, and tell us how art called."

"Maurice Tierney."

"Maurice will do; few of us care for more than one name, except in the
dead muster they like to have it in full. Help thyself, my lad, and
here's the wine-flask beside thee."

"How comes it thou hast this old uniform, boy," said he, pointing to my
sleeve.

"It was one they gave me in the Temple," said I. "I was a 'rat du
prison' for some time."

"Thunder of war!" exclaimed the cannonier, "I had rather stand a whole
platoon fire than see what thou must have seen, child."

"And hast heart to go back there, boy," said the corporal, "and live the
same life again?"

"No, I'll never go back," said I. "I'll be a soldier."

"Well said, mon brave--thou'lt be a hussar, I know."

"If nature has given thee a good head, and a quick eye, my boy, thou
might even do better; and in time, perhaps, wear a coat like mine," said
the cannonier.

"Sacre bleu!" cried a little fellow, whose age might have been any thing
from boyhood to manhood--for while small of stature, he was shriveled
and wrinkled like a mummy--"why not be satisfied with the coat he
wears?"

"And be a drummer, like thee," said the cannonier.

"Just so, like me, and like Massena--he was a drummer, too."

"No, no!" cried a dozen voices together, "that's not true."

"He's right; Massena _was_ a drummer in the Eighth," said the cannonier;
"I remember him when he was like that boy yonder."

"To be sure," said the little fellow, who, I now perceived, wore the
dress of a "tambour;" "and is it a disgrace to be the first to face the
enemy?"

"And the first to turn his back to him, comrade," cried another.

"Not always--not always"--said the little fellow, rega