ic atmosphere,
that the "Invalides," as we were all called, were drawn up in the great
square of the hospital for inspection. Two superior officers of the staff,
attended by several surgeons and an adjutant, sat at a table in front of
us, on which lay the regimental books and conduct-rolls of the different
corps. Such of the sick as had received severe wounds, incapacitating them
for further service, were presented with some slight reward--a few francs
in money, a greatcoat, or a pair of shoes, and obtained their freedom.
Others, whose injuries were less important, received their promotion, or
some slight increase of pay, these favors being all measured by the
character the individual bore in his regiment, and the opinion certified
of him by his commanding officer. When my turn came and I stood forward, I
felt a kind of shame to think how little claim I could prefer either to
honor or advancement.

"Maurice Tiernay, slightly wounded by a sabre at Nauendorf--flesh-wound at
Biberach--enterprising and active, but presumptuous and overbearing with
his comrades," read out the adjutant, while he added a few words I could
not hear, but at which the superior laughed heartily.

"What says the doctor?" asked he, after a pause.

"This has been a bad case of ague, and I doubt if the young fellow will
ever be fit for active service--certainly not at present."

"Is there a vacancy at Saumur?" asked the general. "I see he has been
employed in the school at Nancy."

"Yes, sir; for the third class there is one."

"Let him have it, then. Tiernay, you are appointed as aspirant of the
third class at the College of Saumur. Take care that the report of your
conduct be more creditable than what is written here. Your opportunities
will now be considerable, and if well employed, may lead to further honor
and distinction; if neglected or abused, your chances are forfeited
forever."

I bowed and retired, as little satisfied with the admonition as elated
with the prospect which converted me from a soldier into a scholar, and,
in the first verge of manhood, threw me back once more into the condition
of a mere boy.

Eighteen months of my life--not the least happy, perhaps, since in the
peaceful portion I can trace so little to be sorry for--glided over beside
the banks of the beautiful Loire, the intervals in the hours of study
being spent either in the riding-school, or the river, where, in addition
to swimming and diving, we were instruct