‘No such thing,’ said I, feeling convinced that Lazare was the person. ‘I saw him alive much later’; and with that I related the story I have told my reader, detailing minutely every little particular which might serve to confirm my impression of the identity. ‘No, no,’ said the vicomte, shaking his head, ‘you must be mistaken; Aubuisson was a patient at Charenton for ten years, when he died. The circumstances you mention are certainly both curious and strange, but I cannot think they have any connection with the fortunes of poor Lazare; at all events, if you like to hear the story, come home with me, and I ‘ll tell it; the café is about to close now, and we must leave.’ I gladly accepted the offer, for whatever doubts he had concerning Lazare’s identity with Aubuisson, my convictions were complete, and I longed to hear the solution of a mystery over which I had pondered many a day of march and many a sleepless night. I could scarcely contain my impatience during supper. The thought of Lazare absorbed everything in my mind, and I fancied the old colonel’s appetite knew no bounds when the meal had lasted about a quarter of an hour. At last having finished, and devised his modest glass of weak wine and water, he began the story, of which I present the leading features to my readers, omitting, of course, those little occasional digressions and reflections by which the narrator himself accompanied his tale. CHAPTER XVIII. THE RETREAT FROM LEIPSIC ‘The third day of the disastrous battle of Leipsic was drawing to a close, as the armies of the coalition made one terrible and fierce attack, in concert, against the Imperial forces. Never was anything before heard like the deafening thunder, as three hundred guns of heavy artillery opened their fire at once from end to end of the line, and three hundred thousand men advanced, wildly cheering, to the attack.