"A SOLDIER OF THE EMPIRE. "

By Thomas Nelson Page

1891

It was his greatest pride in life that he had been a soldier--a soldierof the empire. (He was known simply as "The Soldier, " and it is probablethat there was not a man or woman, and certain that there was not achild in the Quarter who did not know him: the tall, erect old Sergeantwith his white, carefully waxed moustache, and his face seamed with twosabre cuts. One of these cuts, all knew, had been received the summerday when he had stood, a mere boy, in the hollow square at Waterloo, striving to stay the fierce flood of the "men on the white horses"; theother, tradition said, was of even more ancient date. )

Yes, they all knew him, and knew how when he was not over thirteen, justthe age of little Raoul the humpback, who was not as tall as Pauline, hehad received the cross which he always wore over his heart sewed in thebreast of his coat, from the hand of the emperor himself, for standingon the hill at Wagram when his regiment broke, and beating thelong-roll, whilst he held the tattered colors resting in his arm, untilthe men rallied and swept back the left wing of the enemy. This thechildren knew, as their fathers and mothers and grandfathers andgrandmothers before them had known it, and rarely an evening passed thatsome of the gamins were not to be found in the old man's kitchen, which was also his parlor, or else on his little porch, listening withever-new delight to the story of his battles and of the emperor. Theyall knew as well as he the thrilling part where the emperor dashed by(the old Sergeant always rose reverently at the name, and the littleaudience also stood, --one or two nervous younger ones sometimes bobbingup a little ahead of time, but sitting down again in confusion underthe contemptuous scowls and pluckings of the rest), --where the emperordashed by, and reined up to ask an officer what regiment that wasthat had broken, and who was that drummer that had been promotedto ensign;--they all knew how, on the grand review afterwards, theSergeant, beating his drum with one hand (while the other, which hadbeen broken by a bullet, was in a sling), had marched with his companybefore the emperor, and had been recognized by him. They knew how he hadbeen called up by a staff-officer (whom the children imagined to bea fine gentleman with a rich uniform, and a great shako like Marie'suncle, the drum-major), and how the emperor had taken from his ownbreast and with his own hand had given him the cross, which he had neverfrom that day removed from his heart, and had said, "I would make you acolonel if I could spare you. "

This was the story they liked best, though there were many others whichthey frequently begged to be told--of march and siege and battle, ofvictories over or escapes from red-coated Britishers and fierce Germanlancers, and of how the mere presence of the emperor was worth fiftythousand men, and how the soldiers knew that where he was no enemy couldwithstand them. It all seemed to them very long ago, and the soldier ofthe empire was the only man in the Quarter who was felt to be greaterthan the rich nobles and fine officers who flashed along the greatstreets, or glittered through the boulevards and parks outside. Morethan once when Paris was stirred up, and the Quarter seemed on the eveof an outbreak, a mounted orderly had galloped up to his door witha letter, requesting his presence somewhere (it was whispered at theprefect's), and when he returned, if he refused to speak of his visitthe Quarter was satisfied; it trusted him and knew that when he advisedquiet it was for its good. He loved France first, the Quarter next. Hadhe not been offered--? What had he not been offered! The Quarter knew, or fancied it knew, which did quite as well. At least, it knew how healways took sides with the Quarter against oppression. It knew how hehad gone up into the burning tenement and brought the children down outof the garret just before the roof fell. It knew how he had jumped intothe river that winter when it was full of ice, to save Raoul's littlelame dog which had fallen into the water; it knew how he had reportedthe gendarmes for arresting poor little Aimée just for begging a man inthe Place de L'Opéra for a franc for her old grandmother, who was blind, and how he had her released instead of being sent to ------. But whatwas the need of multiplying instances! He was "the Sergeant, " a soldierof the empire, and there was not a dog in the Quarter which did not feeland look proud when it could trot on the inside of the sidewalk by him. 

Thus the old Sergeant came to be regarded as the conservator of order inthe Quarter, and was worth more in the way of keeping it quiet than allthe gendarmes that ever came inside its precincts. And thus the childrenall knew him. 

One story that the Sergeant sometimes told, the girls liked to hear, though the boys did not, because it had nothing about war in it, andMinette and Clarisse used to cry so when it was told, that the Sergeantwould stop and put his arms around them and pet them until they onlysobbed on his shoulder. 

It was of how he had, when a lonely old man, met down in Lorraine hislittle Camille, whose eyes were as blue as the sky, and her hand aswhite as the flower from which she took her name, and her cheeks as pinkas the roses in the gardens of the Tuileries. He had loved her, and she, though forty years his junior, had married him and had come here to livewith him; but the close walls of the city had not suited her, and shehad pined and languished before his eyes like a plucked lily, and, aftershe bore him Pierre, had died in his arms, and left him lonelier thanbefore. And the old soldier always lowered his voice and paused a moment(Raoul said he was saying a mass), and then he would add consolingly:"But she left a soldier, and when I am gone, should France ever needone, Pierre will be here. " The boys did not fancy this story for thereasons given, and besides, although they loved the Sergeant, they didnot like Pierre. Pierre was not popular in the Quarter, --except with theyoung girls and a few special friends. The women said he was idle andvain like his mother, who had been, they said, a silly lazy thing withlittle to boast of but blue eyes and a white skin, of which she was tooproud to endanger it by work, and that she had married the Sergeant forhis pension, and would have ruined him if she had lived, and that Pierrewas just like her. 

The children knew nothing of the resemblance. They disliked Pierrebecause he was cross and disagreeable to them, and however their oldersisters might admire his curling brown hair, his dark eyes, and delicatefeatures, which he had likewise inherited from his mother, they did notlike him; for he always scolded when he came home and found them there;and he had several times ordered the whole lot out of the house; andonce he had slapped little Raoul, for which Jean Maison had beaten him. Of late, too, when it drew near the hour for him to come home, the oldSergeant had two or three times left out a part of his story, and hadtold them to run away and come back in the morning, as Pierre liked tobe quiet when he came from his work--which Raoul said was gambling. 

Thus it was that Pierre was not popular in the Quarter. 

He was nineteen years old when war was declared. 

They said Prussia was trying to rob France, --to steal Alsace andLorraine. All Paris was in an uproar. The Quarter, always ripe for anyexcitement, shared in and enjoyed the general commotion. It struck offfrom work. It was like the commune; at least, so people said. Pierre wasthe loudest declaimer in the district. He got work in the armory. 

Recruiting officers went in and out of the saloons and cafés, drinkingwith the men, talking to the women, and stirring up as much fervor aspossible. It needed little to stir it. The Quarter was seething. Troopswere being mustered in, and the streets and parks were filled with thetramp of regiments; and the roll of the drums, the call of the bugles, and the cheers of the crowds as they marched by floated into theQuarter. Brass bands were so common that although in the winter a coupleof strolling musicians had been sufficient to lose temporarily everychild in the Quarter, it now required a full band and a grenadierregiment, to boot, to draw a tolerable representation. 

Of all the residents of the Quarter, none took a deeper interest thanthe soldier of the empire. He became at once an object of more thanusual attention. He had married in Lorraine, and could, of course, telljust how long it would take to whip the Prussians. He thought a singlebattle would decide it. It would if the emperor were there. His littlecourt was always full of inquirers, and the stories of the emperor weretold to audiences now of grandfathers and grandmothers. 

Once or twice the gendarmes had sauntered down, thinking, from seeingthe crowd, that a fight was going on. They had stayed to hear of theemperor. A hint was dropped by the soldier of the empire that perhapsFrance would conquer Prussia, and then go on across to Moscow to settlean old score, and that night it was circulated through the Quarter thatthe invasion of Russia would follow the capture of Berlin. The emperorbecame more popular than he had been since the _coup d'état_. Half theQuarter offered its services. 

The troops were being drilled night and day, and morning after morningthe soldier of the empire locked his door, buttoned his coat tightlyaround him, and with a stately military air marched over to the park tosee the drill, where he remained until it was time for Pierre to havehis supper. 

The old Sergeant's acquaintance extended far beyond the Quarter. Indeed, his name had been mentioned in the papers more than once, and hispresence was noted at the drill by those high in authority; so that hewas often to be seen surrounded by a group listening to his accounts ofthe emperor, or showing what the _manuel_ had been in his time. His air, always soldierly, was now imposing, and many a visitor of distinctioninquiring who he might be, and learning that he was a soldier of theempire, sought an introduction to him. Sometimes they told him that theycould hardly believe him so old, could hardly believe him much olderthan some of those in the ranks, and although at first he used todeclare he was like a rusty flint-lock, too old and useless for service, their flattery soothed his vanity, and after a while, instead of shakinghis head and replying as he did at first that France had no use for oldmen, he would smile doubtfully and say that when they let Pierre go, maybe he would go too, "just to show the children how they fought then. "

The summer came. The war began in earnest. The troops were sent to thefront, the crowds shouting, "On to Berlin. " Others were mustered inand sent after them as fast as they were equipped. News of battleafter battle came; at first, of victory (so the papers said), full andsatisfying, then meagre and uncertain, and at last so scanty that onlythe wise ones knew there had been a defeat. The Quarter was in a feverof patriotism. 

Jean Maison and nearly all the young men had enlisted and gone, leavingtheir sweethearts by turns waving their kerchiefs and wiping theireyes with them. Pierre, however, still remained behind. He said he wasworking for the Government. Raoul said he was not working at all; thathe was skulking. 

Suddenly the levy came. Pierre was conscripted. 

That night the Sergeant enlisted in the same company. Before the weekwas out, their regiment was equipped and dispatched to the front, forthe news came that the army was making no advance, and it was said thatFrance needed more men. Some shook their heads and said that was notwhat she needed, that what she needed was better officers. A suggestionof this by some of the recruits in the old Sergeant's presence drew fromhim the rebuke that in his day "such a speech would have called out acorporal and a file of grenadiers. "

The day they were mustered in, the captain of the company sent for himand bade him have the first sergeant's chevrons sewed on his sleeve. Theorder had come from the colonel, some even said from the marshal. Inthe Quarter it was said that it came from the emperor. The Sergeantsuggested that Pierre was the man for the place; but the captain simplyrepeated the order. The Quarter approved the selection, and severalfights occurred among the children who had gotten up a company as towho should be the sergeant. It was deemed more honorable than to be thecaptain. 

The day the regiment left Paris, the Sergeant was ordered to reportseveral reliable men for special duty; he detailed Pierre among thenumber. Pierre was sick, so sick that when the company started he wouldhave been left behind but for his father. The old soldier was too proudof his son to allow him to miss the opportunity of fighting for France. Pierre was the handsomest man in the regiment. 

The new levies on arrival in the field went into camp, in and near somevillages and were drilled, --quite needlessly, Pierre and some of theothers declared. They were not accustomed to restraint, and they couldnot see why they should be worked to death when they were lying in campdoing nothing. But the soldier of the empire was a strict drill-master, and the company was shortly the best-drilled one in the regiment. 

Yet the army lay still: they were not marching on to Berlin. The soleprinciple of the campaign seemed to be the massing together of as manytroops as possible. What they were to do no one appeared very clearly toknow. What they were doing all knew: they were doing nothing. The men, at first burning for battle, became cold or lukewarm with waiting;dissatisfaction crept in, and then murmurs: "Why did they not fight?"The soldier of the empire himself was sorely puzzled. The art of war hadclearly changed since his day. The emperor would have picked the bestthird of these troops and have been at the gates of the Prussian capitalin less time than they had spent camped with the enemy right beforethem. Still, it was not for a soldier to question, and he reported fora week's extra guard duty a man who ventured to complain in his presencethat the marshal knew as little as the men. Extra guard duty did nogood. The army was losing heart. 

Thus it was for several weeks. But at last, one evening, it was apparentthat some change was at hand: the army stirred and shook itself as agreat animal moves and stretches, not knowing if it will awake or dropoff to sleep again. 

During the night it became wide awake. It was high time. The Prussianswere almost on them. They had them in a trap. They held the highergrounds and hemmed the French in. All night long the tents were beingstruck, and the army was in commotion. No one knew just why it was. Somesaid they were about to be attacked; some said they were surrounded. Uncertainty gave place to excitement. At length they marched. 

When day began to break, the army had been tumbled into line of battle, and the regiment in which the old Sergeant and Pierre were was drawnup on the edge of a gentleman's park outside of the villages. The lineextended beyond them farther than they could see, and large bodies oftroops were massed behind them, and were marching and countermarchingin clouds of dust. The rumor went along the ranks that they were inthe advanced line, and that the Germans were just the other side ofthe little plateau, which they could dimly see in the gray light of thedawn. The men, having been marching in the dark, were tired, and mostof them lay down, when they were halted, to rest. Some went to sleep;others, like Pierre, set to work and with their bayonets dug littletrenches and threw up a slight earthwork before them, behind which theycould lie; for the skirmishers had been thrown out, looking vague andghostly as they trotted forward in the dim twilight, and they supposedthat the battle would be fought right there. By the time, however, thatthe trenches were dug, the line was advanced, and the regiment was movedforward some distance, and was halted just under a knoll along which rana road. The Sergeant was the youngest man in the company; the sound ofbattle had brought back all his fire. To him numbers were nothing. Hethought it now but a matter of a few hours, and France would be at thegates of Berlin. He saw once more the field of glory and heard againthe shout of victory; Lorraine would be saved; he beheld the tricolorfloating over the capital of the enemies of France. Perhaps, it would beplanted there by Pierre. And he saw in his imagination Pierre climbingat a stride from a private to a captain, a colonel, a--! who couldtell?--had not the _baton_ been won in a campaign? As to dreaming that abattle could bring any other result than victory!--It was impossible!

"Where are you going?" shouted derisively the men of a regiment at rest, to the Sergeant's command as they marched past. 

"To Berlin, " replied the Sergeant. 

The reply evoked cheers, and that regiment that day stood its grounduntil a fourth of its men fell. The old soldier's enthusiasm infectedthe new recruits, who were pale and nervous under the strain of waiting. His eye rested on Pierre, who was standing down near the other end ofthe company, and the father's face beamed as he thought he saw thereresolution and impatience for the fight. Ha! France should ring with hisname; the Quarter should go wild with delight. 

Just then the skirmishers ahead began to fire, and in a few moments itwas answered by a sullen note from the villages beyond the plain, andthe battle had begun. The dropping fire of the skirmish line increasedand merged into a rattle, and suddenly the thunder broke from a hillto their right, and ran along the crest until the earth trembled undertheir feet. Bullets began to whistle over their heads and clip theleaves of the trees beyond them, and the long, pulsating scream ofshells flying over them and exploding in the park behind them made thefaces of the men look gray in the morning twilight. Waiting was worsethan fighting. It told on the young men. 

In a little while a staff-officer galloped up to the colonel, who wassitting on his horse in the road, quietly smoking a cigar, and a momentlater the whole line was in motion. They were wheeled to the right, andmarched under shelter of the knoll in the direction of the firing. Asthey passed the turn of the road, they caught a glimpse of the hillahead where the artillery, enveloped in smoke, was thundering from anever-thickening cloud. A battery of eight guns galloped past them, andturning the curve disappeared in a cloud of dust. To the new recruits itseemed as if the whole battle was being fought right there. They couldsee nothing but their own line, and only a part of that; smoke and dusthid everything else; but the hill was plainly an important point, forthey were being pushed forward, and the firing on the rise ahead of themwas terrific. They were still partly protected by the ridge, but shellswere screaming over them, and the earth was rocking under their feet. More batteries came thundering by, --the men clinging to the pieces andthe drivers lashing their horses furiously, --and disappearing intothe smoke on the hill, unlimbered and swelled the deafening roar; theypassed men lying on the ground dead or wounded, or were passed by othershelping wounded comrades to the rear. Several men in the company fell, some crying out or groaning with pain, and two or three killed outright. 

The men were dodging and twisting, with heads bent forward a little asif in a pelting rain. Only the old Sergeant and some of the younger oneswere perfectly erect. 

"Why don't you dodge the balls?" asked a recruit of the Sergeant. 

"A soldier of the empire never dodges, " was the proud reply. 

Some change occurred on the hills; they could not see what. Just thenthe order came down the line to advance at a double-quick and supportthe batteries. They moved forward at a run and passed beyond the shelterof the ridge. Instantly they were in the line of fire from the Prussianbatteries, whose white puffs of smoke were visible across the plain, andbullets and shell tore wide spaces in their ranks. They could not seethe infantrymen, who were in pits, but the bullets hissed and whistledby them. The men on both sides of Pierre were killed and fell forward ontheir faces with a thud, one of them still clutching his musket. Pierrewould have stopped, but there was no time, the men in the rear pressedhim on. As they appeared in the smoke of the nearest battery, theartillerymen broke into cheers at the welcome sight, and all down theline it was taken up. All around were dead and dying men increasing innumbers momentarily. No one had time to notice them. Some of them hadblankets thrown over them. The infantry, who were a little to the sideof the batteries, were ordered to lie down; most of them had alreadydone so; even then they were barely protected; shot and shell ploughedthe ground around them as if it had been a fallow field; men spoke totheir comrades, and before receiving a reply were shot dead at theirsides. The wounded were more ghastly than the dead; their faces growingsuddenly deadly white from the shock as they were struck. 

The gunners lay in piles around their guns, and still the survivorsworked furiously in the dense heat and smoke, the sweat pouring downtheir blackened faces. The fire was terrific. 

Suddenly an officer galloped up, and spoke to the lieutenant of thenearest battery. 

"Where is the colonel?"

"Killed. "

"Where is your captain?"

"Dead, there under the gun. "

"Are you in command?"

"I suppose so. "

"Well, hold this hill. "

"How long?"

"Forever. " And he galloped off. 

His voice was heard clear and ringing in a sudden lull, and the oldSergeant, clutching his musket, shouted:

"We will, forever. "

There was a momentary lull. 

Suddenly the cry was:

"Here they are. "

In an instant a dark line of men appeared coming up the slope. The gunswere trained down on them, but shot over their heads; they were doubleshotted and trained lower, and belched forth canister. They fell inswathes, yet still they came on at a run, hurrahing, until they werealmost up among the guns, and the gunners were leaving their pieces. Theold Sergeant's voice speaking to his men was as steady as if on parade, and kept them down, and when the command was given to fire kneeling, they rose as one man, and poured a volley into the Germans' faces whichsent them reeling back down the hill, leaving a broken line of dead andstruggling men on the deadly crest. Just then a brigade officer camealong. They heard him say, "That repulse may stop them. " Then hegave some order in an undertone to the lieutenant in command of thebatteries, and passed on. A moment later the fire from the Prussianbatteries was heavier than before; the guns were being knocked topieces. A piece of shell struck the Sergeant on the cheek, tearing awaythe flesh badly. He tore the sleeve from his shirt and tied it aroundhis head with perfect unconcern. The fire of the Germans was stillgrowing heavier; the smoke was too dense to see a great deal, but theywere concentrating or were coming closer. The lieutenant came back fora moment and spoke to the captain of the company, who, looking along theline, called the Sergeant, and ordered him to go back down the hill towhere the road turned behind it, and tell General ------ to send thema support instantly, as the batteries were knocked to pieces, and theycould not hold the hill much longer. The announcement was astonishingto the old soldier; it had never occurred to him that as long as a manremained they could not hold the hill, and he was half-way down theslope before he took it in. He had brought his gun with him, and heclutched it convulsively as if he could withstand alone the wholePrussian army. "He might have taken a younger man to do his trotting, "he muttered to himself as he stalked along, not knowing that his woundhad occasioned his selection. "Pierre--" but, no, Pierre must stay wherehe would have the opportunity to distinguish himself. 

It was no holiday promenade that the old soldier was taking; for hispath lay right across the track swept by the German batteries, and thewhole distance was strewn with dead, killed as they had advanced in themorning. But the old Sergeant got safely across. He found the Generalwith one or two members of his staff sitting on horseback in the roadnear the park gate, receiving and answering dispatches. He delivered hismessage. 

"Go back and tell him he _must_ hold it, " was the reply. "Upon itdepends the fate of the day; perhaps of France. Or wait, you arewounded; I will send some one else; you go to the rear. " And he gavethe order to one of his staff, who saluted and dashed off on his horse. "Hold it for France, " he called after him. 

The words were heard perfectly clear even above the din of battle whichwas steadily increasing all along the line, and they stirred the oldsoldier like a trumpet. No rear for him! He turned and pushed back upthe hill at a run. The road had somewhat changed since he left, buthe marked it not; shot and shell were ploughing across his path morethickly, but he did not heed them; in his ears rang the words--"ForFrance. " They came like an echo from the past; it was the same cry hehad heard at Waterloo, when the soldiers of France that summer dayhad died for France and the emperor, with a cheer on their lips. "ForFrance": the words were consecrated; the emperor himself had used them. He had heard him, and would have died then; should he not die now forher! Was it not glorious to die for France, and have men say that he hadfought for her when a babe, and had died for her when an old man!

With these thoughts was mingled the thought of Pierre--Pierre also woulddie for France! They would save her or die together; and he pressed hishand with a proud caress over the cross on his breast. It was the emblemof glory. 

He was almost back with his men now; he knew it by the roar, but thesmoke hid everything. Just then it shifted a little. As it did so, hesaw a man steal out of the dim line and start towards him at a run. Hehad on the uniform of his regiment. His cap was pulled over his eyes, and he saw him deliberately fling away his gun. He was skulking. Allthe blood boiled up in the old soldier's veins. Desert!--not fight forFrance! Why did not Pierre shoot him! Just then the coward passed closeto him, and the old man seized him with a grip of iron. The deserter, surprised, turned his face; it was pallid with terror and shame; but nomore so than his captor's. It was Pierre. 

"Pierre!" he gasped. "Good God! where are you going?"

"I am sick, " faltered the other. 

"Come back, " said the father sternly. 

"I cannot, " was the terrified answer. 

"It is for France, Pierre, " pleaded the old soldier. 

"Oh! I cannot, " moaned the young man, pulling away. There was apause--the old man still holding on hesitatingly, then, --"Dastard!" hehissed, flinging his son from him with indescribable scorn. 

Pierre, free once more, was slinking off with averted face, when anewidea seized his father, and his face grew grim as stone. Cocking hismusket, he flung it up, took careful and deliberate aim at his son'sretreating figure, and brought his finger slowly down upon the trigger. But, before he could fire, a shell exploded directly in the line of hisaim, and when the smoke blew off, Pierre had disappeared. The Sergeantlowered his piece, gazed curiously down the hill, and then hurried tothe spot where the shell had burst. A mangled form marked the place. Thecoward had in the very act of flight met the death he dreaded. Pierrelay dead on his face, shot in the back. The back of his head wasshattered by a fragment of shell. The countenance of the living manwas more pallid than that of the dead. No word escaped him, except thatrefrain, "For France, for France, " which he repeated mechanically. 

Although this had occupied but a few minutes, momentous changes hadtaken place on the ridge above. The sound of the battle had somewhataltered, and with the roar of artillery were mingled now the continuousrattle of the musketry and the shouts and cheers of the contendingtroops. The fierce onslaught of the Prussians had broken the linesomewhere beyond the batteries, and the French were being borne back. Almost immediately the slope was filled with retreating men hurryingback in the demoralization of panic. All order was lost. It was a rout. The soldiers of his own regiment began to rush by the spot where theold Sergeant stood above his son's body. Recognizing him, some of hiscomrades seized his arm and attempted to hurry him along; but with afierce exclamation the old soldier shook them off, and raising his voiceso that he was heard even above the tumult of the rout, he shouted, "Areye all cowards? Rally for France--For France----"

They tried to bear him along; the officers, they said, were dead; thePrussians had captured the guns, and had broken the whole line. But itwas no use; still he shouted that rallying cry, For France, for France, "Vive la France; Vive l'Empereur"; and steadied by the war-cry, andaccustomed to obey an officer, the men around him fell instinctivelyinto something like order, and for an instant the rout was arrested. Thefight was renewed over Pierre's dead body. As they had, however, trulysaid, the Prussians were too strong for them. They had carried the lineand were now pouring down the hill by thousands in the ardor of hotpursuit, the line on either side of the hill was swept away, and whilstthe gallant little band about the old soldier still stood and foughtdesperately, they were soon surrounded. There was no thought of quarter;none was asked, none was given. Cries, curses, cheers, shots, blows, were mingled together, and clear above all rang the old soldier'swar-cry, For France, for France, "Vive la France, Vive l'Empereur. " Itwas the refrain from an older and bloodier field. He thought he was atWaterloo. 

Mad with excitement, the men took up the cry, and fought like tigers;but the issue could not be doubtful. 

Man after man fell, shot or clubbed down, with the cry "For France"on his lips, and his comrades, standing astride his body, fought withbayonets and clubbed muskets till they too fell in turn. Almost the lastone was the old Sergeant. Wounded to death, and bleeding from numberlessgashes, he still fought, shouting his battle-cry, "For France, " tillhis musket was hurled spinning from his shattered hand, and staggeringsenseless back, a dozen bayonets were driven into his breast, crushingout forever the brave spirit of the soldier of the empire. 

It was best, for France was lost. 

A few hours later the Quarter was in mourning over the terrible defeat. 

* * * * *

That night a group of Prussian officers going over the field withlanterns looking after their wounded, stopped near a spot remarkableeven on that bloody slope for the heaps of dead of both armies literallypiled upon each other. 

"It was just here, " said one, "that they got reinforcements and madethat splendid rally. "

A second, looking at the body of an old French sergeant lying amidstheaps of slain, with his face to the sky, said simply as he saw hisscars:

"There died a brave soldier. "

Another, older than the first, bending closer to count the bayonetwounds, caught the gleam of something in the light of the lantern, and stooping to examine a broken cross of the Legion on the dead man'sbreast, said reverently:

"He was a _soldier of the empire_. "