Toussaint Lumineau, on his way home from vespers with his friend Massonneau, heard them also. Massonneau, an old tenant farmer, tall and thin, with skin as dark as a ripe ear of corn, the cartilages of his neck standing out like the breast-bone of a fowl, had acquired his name of "Le Glorieux" from a nervous twitch he had, which caused his chin to jerk upwards at every instant; Lumineau and he were discussing the latest events of La Fromentière. The two men represented the age and wisdom of the Marais; moreover, they could tell the names and nicknames of every living soul at Sallertaine, their history and parentage. As they reached the last houses of the town, both simultaneously stopped and turned their faces windward. "Do you hear, Glorieux?" exclaimed Lumineau. "They are bugling and singing, poor boys! But the parents of those who are going may well weep." "Yes," returned Massonneau, with a twitch of the chin, "the parents are to be pitied." "I could name them, everyone, from only hearing their lad's voices," continued Lumineau. "You, good people of La Bounellerie, and you, of Grand Paiement; you, of Juch-Pie; you, of Linotteries; and you, of Belle-Blanche, I recognise your boys' voices. May it not do the same work for them that it did for my François! They are going to the place that changed my boy's heart--to the town that robbed me of him." "As it robbed La Pinçonnière," said his companion. "And Leverells." "And Parée-du-Mont." The litany might have been prolonged; Massonneau hearing the voices at the edge of the Marais broke in with: "They are singing again," he said, "they are going up the hill to you, Lumineau." And in truth the young conscripts had begun the ascent towards La Fromentière; soon the bugle call, soon their voices, resounded over the silent Marais, carried afar by the wind, like grains of seed falling everywhere. And everywhere, without apparent reason, emotions were stirred, old sorrows awoke, and the humble occupants of isolated farms or remote villages listened with a tightening of the heart to the tramp of the conscripts of Sallertaine. As they reached the meadow-land of La Fromentière, Mathurin, who had been following the sounds, and with his marvellous sense of observation had marked every step of their way, said to André: "They have already halted at three farms. I think they must be collecting for their class. You did not do that? For the last two years they have started calling at all the houses where there is a young girl of their own age, to ask her for a fowl as compensation for having to serve. Rousille is drawn among the other girls. You should catch a fowl to give them when they come." "So I will," returned André, laughing and springing up with a bound. "I'm off. What do they do with all the fowls?" "Eat them. They get three or four farewell dinners out of them. Be quick! they are coming!"