He sat down at the table with us for a moment, and took up little Sâfel, drawing him to him and caressing his cheeks. Then he wanted to hold Esdras also. We looked on in silence. "I am going to leave you, Father Moses," said he, "I am going to pack my bag. Thunder and lightning! I am sorry to leave you!" "And we are sorry, too, sergeant," said Sorlé,. mournfully; "but if you will live with us----" "It is impossible!" "Then you remain in the service?" "Service of whom--of what?" said he; "of Louis XVIII.? No! no! I know no one but my general--but that makes it hard to go--when a man has done his duty----" He started up, and shouted in a piercing voice: "_Vive l'Empereur!_" We trembled, we did not know why. I reached out my hand to him, and rose; we embraced each other like brothers. "Good-by, Father Moses," said he, "good-by for a long while." "You are going at once, then?" "Yes!" "You know, sergeant, that you will always have friends here. You will come and see us. If you need anything----" "Yes, yes, I know it. You are true friends--excellent people!" He shook my hand vehemently. Then he took up his musket, and we were all following him, expressing our good wishes, when he turned, with tears in his eyes, and embraced my wife, saying: "I must embrace you, too; there is no harm in it, is there, Madame Sorlé?" "Oh, no!" said she, "you are one of the family, and I will embrace Zeffen for you!" He went out at once, exclaiming in a hoarse voice, "Good-by! Farewell!" I saw him go into his room at the end of the little passage. Twenty-five years of service, eight wounds, and no bread in his old age! My heart bled at the thought of it. About a quarter of an hour after, the sergeant came down with his musket. Meeting Sâfel on the stairs, he said to him, "Stay, that is for your father!" It was the portrait of the landwehr's wife and children. Sâfel brought it to me at once. I took the poor devil's gift, and looked at it for a long time, very sadly; then I shut it up in the closet with the letter. It was noon, and, as the gates were about to be opened, and abundance of provisions were to come, we sat down before a large piece of boiled beef, with a dish of potatoes, and opened a good bottle of wine. We were still eating when we heard shouts in the street. Sâfel got up to look out. "A wounded soldier that they are carrying to the hospital!" said he. Then he exclaimed, "It is our sergeant!" A horrible thought ran through my mind. "Keep still!" I said to Sorlé, who was getting up, and I went down alone. Four marine gunners were carrying the litter by on their shoulders; children were running behind. At the first glance I recognized the sergeant; his face perfectly white and his breast covered with blood. He did not move. The poor fellow had gone from our house to the bastion behind the arsenal, to shoot himself through the heart. I went up so overwhelmed, so sad and sorrowful, that I could scarcely stand.