“Hi there, mademoiselle! bring some more cheese, will you—and bread and wine. You will join me, won’t you, comrades? It is my treat. Here’s to your good health!” They drew their chairs up to the table, only too delighted with the invitation. Their entertainer watched them as they attacked the food, and a thrill of pity ran through him as he beheld their sorry plight, dirty, ragged, arms gone, their sole attire a pair of red trousers and the capote, kept in place by bits of twine and so patched and pieced with shreds of vari-colored cloth that one would have taken them for men who had been looting some battle-field and were wearing the spoil they had gathered there. “Ah! _foutre_, yes!” continued the taller of the two as he plied his jaws, “it was no laughing matter there! You ought to have seen it,—tell him how it was, Coutard.” And the little man told his story with many gestures, describing figures on the air with his bread. “I was washing my shirt, you see, while the rest of them were making soup. Just try and picture to yourself a miserable hole, a regular trap, all surrounded by dense woods that gave those Prussian pigs a chance to crawl up to us before we ever suspected they were there. So, then, about seven o’clock the shells begin to come tumbling about our ears. _Nom de Dieu!_ but it was lively work! we jumped for our shooting-irons, and up to eleven o’clock it looked as if we were going to polish ’em off in fine style. But you must know that there were only five thousand of us, and the beggars kept coming, coming as if there was no end to them. I was posted on a little hill, behind a bush, and I could see them debouching in front, to right, to left, like rows of black ants swarming from their hill, and when you thought there were none left there were always plenty more. There’s no use mincing matters, we all thought that our leaders must be first-class nincompoops to thrust us into such a hornet’s nest, with no support at hand, and leave us to be crushed there without coming to our assistance. And then our General, Douay,[2] poor devil! neither a fool nor a coward, that man,—a bullet comes along and lays him on his back. That ended it; no one left to command us! No matter, though, we kept on fighting all the same; but they were too many for us, we had to fall back at last. We held the railway station for a long time, and then we fought behind a wall, and the uproar was enough to wake the dead. And then, when the city was taken, I don’t exactly remember how it came about, but we were upon a mountain, the Geissberg, I think they call it, and there we intrenched ourselves in a sort of castle, and how we did give it to the pigs! they jumped about the rocks like kids, and it was fun to pick ’em off and see ’em tumble on their nose. But what would you have? they kept coming, coming, all the time, ten men to our one, and all the artillery they could wish for. Courage is a very good