Some weeks later, in the streets of Milan, there were seen passing a few companies of convalescent French soldiers sadly returning to France. Some have their arms in slings, others are supported by crutches or bear marks of wounds. Their uniforms are well worn and torn, but they wear fine linen, which the rich men of Lombardy have generously given them in exchange for their blood-stained shirts: "Your blood flowed to defend our country," they said, "and we wish to keep these memories of it." These men, not long ago so strong, so robust, now deprived of an arm or a leg or with head bandaged, bear their misfortune with resignation. But, thus incapable of continuing in the army and earning bread for their families, they already with bitterness, behold themselves, after their return to their native land, objects of commiseration and pity, a care to others and to themselves. In one of the hospitals of Milan, a sergeant of the Zouave Guard, with an energetic and proud face, who has had one leg amputated and had borne that operation without a complaint, was seized, some time after, with extreme sadness, although his health was improving and his recovery rapidly taking place. This sadness, increasing daily, was incomprehensible. A Sister of Charity, perceiving tears in his eyes, questioned so insistently that he at last confessed that he was the sole support of his aged and infirm mother to whom he used to send each month five francs of his pay. He added that, being unable to help her, this poor woman must be in great need of money. The Sister of Charity, touched with compassion, gave him five francs, the value of which was immediately sent to France. When the directress of the hospital wished to make him another gift, he would not accept it, and said to her thankfully: "Keep this money for others who need it more than I; as for my mother, I hope next month to send her her usual allowance, for I count on soon being able to work."