"Silence in the ranks!" exclaimed the sergeant. "One may be silent, sergeant," continued the grenadier; "but it is all the same provoking to see a pretty woman like that running the risk of getting her neck broken for the sake of a calotin."[2] "Grenadier," said the sergeant, "we are not in the Pike Club. Save your eloquence!" And turning to the woman, "And your husband, madam? What does he do? What has become of him?" "Nothing; since he was killed." "Where was that?" "In the hedge." "When?" "Three days ago." "Who killed him?" "I do not know." "How is that? You don't know who killed your husband?" "No." "Was it a Blue, or a White?" "It was a bullet." "Was that three days ago?" "Yes." "In what direction?" "Towards Ernée. My husband fell. That was all." "And since your husband died, what have you been doing?" "I have been taking my little ones along." "Where are you taking them?" "Straight along." "Where do you sleep?" "On the ground." "What do you eat?" "Nothing." The sergeant made that military grimace which elevates the moustache to the nose. "Nothing?" "Well, nothing but sloes, blackberries when I found any left over from last year, whortle-berries, and fern-shoots." "Yes, you may well call it nothing." The oldest child, who seemed to understand, said: "I am hungry." The sergeant pulled from his pocket a piece of ration bread, and handed it to the mother. Taking the bread, she broke, it in two and gave it to the children, who bit into it greedily. "She has not saved any for herself," growled the sergeant. "Because she is not hungry," remarked a soldier. "Because she is a mother," said the sergeant. The children broke in. "Give me something to drink," said one. "To drink," repeated the other. "Is there no brook in this cursed wood?" said the sergeant. The vivandière took the copper goblet suspended at her belt together with a bell, turned the cock of the can that was strapped across her shoulder, and pouring several drops into the goblet, held it to the children's lips. The first drank and made a grimace. The second drank and spit it out "It is good, all the same," said the vivandière. "Is that some of the old cut-throat?" asked the sergeant. "Yes, some of the best. But they are peasants." She wiped the goblet. "And so, madam, you are running away?" resumed the sergeant. "I couldn't help it." "Across the fields? With no particular object?" "Sometimes I run with all my might, and then I walk, and once in a while I fall." "Poor countrywoman!" said the vivandière. "They were fighting," stammered the woman. "I was in the middle of the firing. I don't know what they want. They killed my husband,--that was all I know about it." The sergeant banged the butt of his musket on the ground, exclaiming,-- "What a beast of a war! In the name of all that is idiotic!" The woman continued,--- "Last night we went to bed in an _émousse._" "All four of you?" "All four." "Went to bed?" "Went to bed."