The gruff old invalid that carried my daily rations seemed but ill-disposed to afford me any information, even as to the common events without, and seldom made any other reply to my questioning than an erect position as if on parade, a military salute, and “Connais pas, mon lieutenant,”--a phrase which I actually began to abhor from its repetition. Still, his daily visits showed I was not utterly forgotten; while from my window I had a view of all that went on in the barrack-yard. There--for I had neither books nor newspapers--I spent my day watching the evolutions of the soldiers: the parade at daybreak, the relieving guards, the drill, the exercise, the very labors of the barrack-square,--all had their interest for me; and at length I began to know the very faces of the soldiers, and could recognize the bronzed and weather-beaten features of the veterans of the republican armies. It was a cuirassier regiment, and one that had seen much service; most of the _sous-officiers_ and many of the men were decorated, and their helmets bore the haughty device of “Dix centre un!” in memory of some battle against the Austrians, where they repulsed and overthrew a force of ten times their own number. At first their heavy equipments and huge unwieldy horses seemed strange and uncouth to my eyes, accustomed to the more elegant and trim style of a hussar corps; but gradually I fancied there was something almost more soldierlike about them. Their dark faces harmonized too with the great black cuirass; and the large massive boot mounting to the middle of the thigh, the long horsehaired helmet, the straight sword, and peculiar, heavy, plodding step, reminded me of what I used to read of the Roman centurion; while the horses, covered with weighty and massive trappings, moved with a warlike bearing and a tramp as stately as their riders.