Sergeant Baradier, ruddy of complexion, full of life and vigour, was as firm in disposition as Antoine was gentle. His open frankness pleased everybody, and amongst all these good people he was immediately at his ease. Twenty-four hours had not passed before he was on very good terms with Captain de Trémont, and had grouped together all the volunteers of Metz to a banquet to celebrate their return. Elias had had the calm audacity to give in his name, like the rest, and had put in an appearance at the Hotel de l’Ours, to take part in the banquet. But his reception had been a cold one. All who were present, though in civil dress, as the German authorities had forbidden the uniform, knew in what regiments they had served, in what battles they had been wounded. Elias alone lost himself in vague explanations. He pretended to have been everywhere—with the armies at Chanzy and Bourbaki, at the camp of Conlie, and near Garibaldi. This gift of ubiquity astonished everybody. Sergeant Baradier undertook to give an explanation clearer than all those behind which Elias had sheltered himself. “Are you not the Lichtenbach who did business with the firm of Baradier at Troyes?” he asked old Moses’ son, point-blank. “Is it not you who bought sheep in the Ardennes, and drove them through Belgium into France?” “Yes, it is myself,” replied Elias, cautiously. “Well! No wonder you have been everywhere during the war, since you were buying meat from every available spot, on behalf of the management.” As Elias became agitated and turned pale, Baradier continued— “Oh, I am not reproaching you, I am simply stating a fact. These gentlemen just now did not appear to understand the part you played. I am explaining it to them. M. Lichtenbach is a patriot in a fashion. Instead of fighting he undertook to feed the fighters. If not a glorious employment, it is, at least a useful one.” “But I risked my life like the rest,” exclaimed Elias, red with anger. “Had the Germans caught me they would have shot me!” “It is most extraordinary that they allowed you to move in and out so freely through their lines, for they did not generally show themselves over confident. The good reception, too, they gave you must have appeared very strange.” “What do you mean!” exclaimed Elias. “Simply what I say; nothing more,” replied Baradier, coldly. “But if you wish me to explain, I merely remark that remaining out of the reach of sabre cuts and musket shots, whilst others are fighting, being warm and comfortable, and deprived of nothing, whilst your companions are dying of cold and hunger, seeing in the misfortunes of one’s country only an opportunity of making a fortune, is not what one would call the height of heroism.” “You insult me!” “I am ready to give you satisfaction.” “Good! you shall hear from me.” “Do not cry out so loud; I can easily be found. I am staying with M. Graff, and am the son of M. Baradier, your banker at Troyes. Now we will change the subject.”