"The state of things is, that we have been obliged to re-cross the Rhine, and that all our strong places on the other side are besieged. The 10th of last November, the Prince of Neufchâtel reviewed the regiment at Bleckheim. The soldiers of the third battalion were transferred to the second, and the skeleton of the regiment was to hold itself in readiness to set out for the depôt. The skeletons exist sure enough, but where are the men? No wonder there are none, bled as they have been at every pore. All Europe is up in arms. The Emperor is at Paris; he is preparing his plan of campaign. Let them only give us breathing-time till spring!" Just at this moment, Wittman, who was standing by the window, said:--"Here comes the Governor--he has been examining the abattis and defences round the town." And they saw the commandant, Jean-Pierre Meunier, his head adorned with a large three-cornered hat, and wearing a tricolour scarf round his waist, crossing the square. "Ah," said the sergeant, "I must go and get him to sign the order of march. Excuse me, friend, I must leave you." "Good-bye, sergeant, and thank you. If you see Gaspard again, tell him that Jean-Claude Hullin desires to be remembered to him, and that all in his village are anxiously expecting to hear from him." "Certainly, certainly. I will not fail." The sergeant went out, and Hullin sat thoughtfully and silently finishing his pint of wine. "Neighbour Wittman," said he, after a moment's pause, "where is my parcel?" "It is ready, Master Jean-Claude." Then, looking in at the kitchen door, he called out:--"Grédel, Grédel, bring Master Hullin's parcel!" A little woman appeared at this summons, and placed on the table a bundle of sheepskins. Jean-Claude passed his stick through the bundle, and put it on his shoulder. "What, are you going to start directly?" "Yes, neighbour Wittman; the days are short, and it is bad travelling through the woods after six o'clock. I must get home betimes." "A safe journey to you, then, Master Jean-Claude." Hullin went out, and crossed the square, keeping his eyes turned aside from the convoy of wounded and dying, who were still stationed in front of the church. And the innkeeper, as he watched him from his window setting off at a good round pace, said to himself-- "How pale he was when he came in; he could scarcely stand upon his legs. It's droll now, a rough man, an old soldier like him, to be so upset, while I could see fifty regiments of wounded go by in carts without thinking more about it than my morning pipe." [Illustration] CHAPTER IV.