As they passed along, they could not avoid hearing the mocking remarks which were exchanged by the peasants of Brie when they saw the proud aristocrats, whose lives had flowed on for years beside yet apart from their own, forced at last into fellowship with their neighbours by a common hope and fear. The silk of Madame de Talmont’s mantle, well-worn yet unmistakably elegant, rubbed against the homespun gown of the baker’s widow, and both faces were pale with one anxiety. “Ah, madame, there’s little chance for us this time,” said Widow Simon. “_They_ like it, the young folk. _They_ know no better. But God help the old!” A crowd of women were standing together in the town hall, while the young men went inside into the mayor’s office to draw each his number from the box. Without, in the village street, a band was playing martial airs, and people were shouting, “Vive l’Empereur!” Every minute or two some one came out of the office, swaggering or downcast, as the case might be. Widow Simon’s son had drawn a very high number, which made him comparatively safe; and Madame de Talmont felt glad ever afterwards that she congratulated the mother. Mathieu Féron came out waving his cap triumphantly, and shouting, “Vive l’Empereur! I am going to fight the Russians! Hammer and tongs, good-bye!” Then Henri came. He was calm, but a few shades paler than before. He showed his number--_eleven_. No one spoke; but a moment after Clémence touched his arm and whispered hurriedly, “Come out into the air. Our mother is growing faint.” “Let us go home,” said Madame de Talmont, sighing heavily. The crowd was increasing every moment, and the din and tumult were deafening. With some impatience Henri pushed aside those who stood in his path, and there was a sharp ring in his voice as he said, “Make way, make way, good people!” “Oh yes; make way for the new conscript. How well M. de Talmont will look in the awkward squad!” cried some one. Féron had crossed the street to the little inn opposite the Mairie, and was about to drink the Emperor’s health in a cup of good red wine, a practice much in favour with the conscripts, but before tasting it he pushed through the throng, and offered the brimming goblet to Henri. “Drink, M. de Talmont,” he said. “We are all comrades now, and the sooner we learn good fellowship the better.” Henri pushed the cup aside without a word; but Clémence spoke gently to the village lad. “It is not that my brother would not drink with you, Mathieu,” she said; “but he is troubled just now, and so are we--like your mother and your sisters.”