This gloomy disappointment made me low-spirited and sad. Nor can I say where such reflections might not have led me, when suddenly a change came over my thoughts by seeing a wounded soldier, who had just arrived from Mortier's division, with news of a fierce encounter they had sustained against Kutusof's Russians. The poor fellow was carried past in a litter,--his arm had been amputated that same morning, and a frightful shot-wound had carried away part of his cheek; still, amid all his suffering, his eye was brilliant, and a smile of proud meaning was on his lips. “Lift it up, Guillaume; let me see it again,” said he, as they bore him along the crowded street. “What is it he wishes?” said I. “The poor fellow is asking for something.” “Yes, mon lieutenant. It is the _sabre d'honneur_ the Emperor gave him this morning. He likes to look at it every now and then; he says he doesn't mind the pain when he sees that before him. _And it is natural, too._” “Such is glory!” said I to myself; “and he who feels this in his heart has no room for other thoughts.” “Oh, give to me the trumpet's blast, And the champ of the charger prancing; Or the whiz of the grape-shot flying past, That 'a music meet for dancing. “Tralararalal” sang a wild-looking voltigeur, as he capered along the street, keeping time to his rude song with the tramp of his feet. “Ha! there goes a fellow from the Faubourg!” said an officer near me. “The Faubourg?” repeated I, asking for explanation. “Yes, to be sure. The Faubourg St. Antoine supplies all the reckless devils of the army; one of them would corrupt a regiment, and so, the best thing to do is to keep them as much together as possible. The voltigeurs have little else; and proof is, they are the cleverest corps in the service, and if they could be kept from picking and stealing, lying, drinking, and gambling, there's not a man might not be a general of division in time. There goes another!” As he spoke, a fellow passed by with a goose under his arm, followed by a woman most vociferously demanding restitution; while he only amused himself by replying with a mock courtesy, deploring in sad terms the unhappy necessities of war and the cruel hardships of a campaign. “It's no use punishing those fellows,” said the officer. “They desert in whole companies if you send one to the _salle de police_; and so we have only one resource, which is, to throw them pretty much in advance, and leave their chastisement to the enemy. And, sooth to say, they ask for nothing better themselves.” Thus, even these fellows seemed to have their own sentiment of glory,--a problem which the more I reasoned over the more puzzled did I become.