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Two cantinières arrived from the village; and, as I had yet a few crowns remaining, I offered Klipfel and Zébédé a glass of brandy each, to counteract the effects of the fogs of the night. I also presumed to offer one to Sergeant Pinto, who accepted it, saying that bread and brandy warmed the heart. We felt quite happy, and no one suspected the horrors the day was to bring forth.

When the roll of the drums began again, I looked around, and saw that I was between Klipfel and Furst, all three with our knapsacks on our backs. Their parents stood before us, weeping as if at their funeral. To the right, near the town-hall, Captain Vidal, on his little gray horse, was conversing with two infantry officers. The sergeants called the roll, and we answered.

These thoughts embittered us all toward the enemy, and as we met everywhere people who seemed to rejoice alone in fighting, Klipfel and Zébédé talked only of the pleasure it would give them to meet the Prussians; and I, not to seem less courageous than they, adopted the same strain.

It might have been about one o'clock in the morning, and we thought ourselves safe, when suddenly Buche said to me: "Joseph, here are the Prussians!" And looking behind us, I saw in the moonlight five bronzed hussars from the same regiment as those who, the year before, had cut poor Klipfel to pieces. I thought this was a bad sign. "Is your gun loaded?" I asked Buche. "Yes."

Your account is settled." No one offered to injure him further; but Klipfel took a beautiful pipe, which was hanging out of his pocket, saying: "For a long time I have wanted a pipe, and here is a fine one." "Fusileer Klipfel!" cried Pinto, indignantly, "will you be good enough to put back that pipe? Leave it to the Cossacks to rob the wounded! A French soldier knows only honor!"

"Yes," I replied; "and poor Klipfel is there too, but he no longer feels the cold." My teeth chattered. These words saddened us both. A few moments after Zébédé resumed: "Do you remember, Joseph, the black ribbon he wore the day of the conscription, and how he cried, 'we are all condemned to death, like those gone to Russia? I want a black ribbon.

He waved a long black ribbon above his head, and I grew pale despite myself. But as we ascended the steps of the town-house, a conscript was just descending; it was Klipfel, the smith of the French gate; he had drawn number eight, and shouted: "The black for me, Pinacle! Bring it here, whatever may happen." His face was gloomy, but he laughed.

We marched along together to the corner of the rue Houte, where old Furst was waiting with tears in his eyes. The poor old man thought, "Perhaps my son will come too." Seeing Zébédé coming with me, he turned suddenly into the little dark entrance to his house. On the square, Father Klipfel and five or six others were looking at the battalion in line.

I would have wished to know if Klipfel and Furst were unhurt, but the command, "Carry arms!" made me think of myself. The three first columns of the enemy had halted on the hill of Gross-Gorschen to await their supports.

Zébédé, Klipfel, Furst, and I messed together, and we chatted as we lay around our fire: "To-morrow we will have it hot enough, if we attempt to cross the river!