The zigzag path by which I went discovered to me from time to time the lights of the little hamlet, which twinkled star-like in the valley; and as I drew nearer, the confused hum of voices reached me. I listened, and to my amazement heard the deep, hoarse bray of a trumpet. How well I knew that sound! it was the night-call to gather in the stragglers. I stopped to listen; and now, in the stillness, could mark the tramp of horsemen and the clank of their equipments: again the trumpet sounded, and was answered by another at some distance. The road lay straight below me at some hundred yards off, and leaving the path, I dashed directly downwards just as the leading horsemen of a small detachment came slowly up. To their loud _Qui vive?_ I answered by giving an account of the sick man, and entreating the sergeant who commanded the party to lend assistance to convey him to the village. “Yes, _parbleu!_ that we will,” said the honest soldier; “a priest who has made the campaign of Egypt and Austria is worthy of all our care. Where is he?” “About a mile from this; but the road is not practicable for a horseman.” “Well, you shall have two of my men; they will soon bring him hither.” And as he spoke, he ordered two troopers to dismount, who, quickly disencumbering themselves of their sabres, prepared to follow me. “We shall expect you at the bivouac,” cried the sergeant, as he resumed his way; while I, eager to return, breasted the mountain with renewed energy. “You belong to the Guard, my friends,” said I, as I paused for breath at a turn of the path. “The Fourth Cuirassiers of the Guard,” replied the soldier I addressed; “Milhaud's brigade.” How my heart leaped as he said these words! They were part of the division General d'Auvergne once commanded; it was the regiment of poor Pioche, too, before the dreadful day of Austerlitz. “You know the Fourth, then?” rejoined the man, as he witnessed the agitation of my manner. “Know the Fourth?” echoed his comrade, in a voice of half-indignant meaning. “_Sacrebleu!_who does not know them? Does not all the world know them by this time?” “It is the Fourth who wear the motto 'Dix contre un' on their caps,” said I, desirous to flatter the natural vanity of my companions. “Yes, Monsieur; I see you have served also.” I answered by a nod, for already every word, every gesture, recalled to me the career I had quitted; and my regrets, so late subdued by reason and reflection, came thronging back, and filled ray heart to bursting. Hurrying onward now, I mounted the steep path, and soon regained the spot I sought. The poor father was sleeping; overcome by fatigue and weariness, he had fallen on the mossy bank, and lay in a deep, soft slumber. Lifting him gently, the strong troopers crossed their hands beneath, and bore him along between them. For an instant he looked up; but seeing me at his side, he merely pressed my hand, and closed his eyes again.