"And yet, it may be you, old fraud, who shot that bullet into my leg--but, at least you are not to be blamed." "How the devil could I help it! Do we ever know why we fall into one another's hair? The old custom of obeying orders is what sets us agoing. We are ordered to fire--and we fire, without at first taking any particular aim--that's true. But the other side answers in kind. Zounds! From that minute it is each for his own skin." "I believe you." "And then one gets pricked, or sees a comrade fall; he grows hotter in the collar; the smell of gunpowder intoxicates you; and then you begin to bellow as if you were among deaf people--" "Once so far, the rest comes natural, sergeant!" "It does not matter so much, you see, my good old man, so long as you are at guns' length. But the moment you come to close quarters, to a bayonet charge, and you can see the white of each others' eyes, then the compliments exchanged are: 'Take this!' 'Take that!' and yet one feels a weakness stealing over his legs and arms." "Quite natural, sergeant, because you think to yourself--'These are, after all, brave fellows who want the Reform, they want the Republic. Good--what harm can they do me? Besides, am I not one of the common people, like themselves? Have I not relatives and friends among the common people? I wager a hundred to one that I should be of their opinion, that I should fall in line with them, instead of charging upon them'--" "That's so true, my old man, that I'm as much for the Republic as yourself, if it can furnish work to my poor brother." "And that's why I repeat, sergeant, that there is nothing so stupid as for people to shoot holes into one another, without, at least, knowing the why and the wherefore." Saying this father Bribri drew out of his pocket his old snuff-box of white wood, and holding it out to his companion, added: "Will you have some, sergeant?" "Zounds! That's not to be refused, old man; it will help to clear up my head." "Tell me, sergeant," remarked father Bribri laughing, "have you perhaps a cold in the head? Do you know the song: "There were six soldiers, or five, They had a cold in the head--" "Ah, you gay old fraud!" exclaimed the Municipalist, giving his mattress-fellow a friendly tap on the shoulder and laughing heartily at the opportune refrain. He took a pinch of snuff, and after absorbing and relishing it like a connoisseur, he added: "Zounds! This is good!" "I'll take you into my confidence, sergeant," whispered father Bribri, taking a pinch himself, "this is my only luxury. I get it at the Civitte, nowhere else!" "That's the very place my wife makes her purchases in." "Oh, so, then, you are married, sergeant? The devil take it! Your poor wife must be feeling frightfully uneasy." "Yes, she is an excellent woman. If my wound is not fatal, old man, you must come to my house and take a bowl of soup with us. Ho! Ho! We shall chat about St. Denis Street while nibbling a crust."