bolster when I was asleep. To complain of a theft would only have made the complainant pass as a dirty sneak among his comrades, and would have exposed every man of his squadron to suspicion. To return to the inspection: The Corporal having seen that each man's outfit was complete, the Sergeant came to inspect the trooper's clothes to make sure that they were in proper order, that no button was missing, and that all spots of grease or dirt had been properly removed. In case a trooper was short of some article of clothing, this was duly reported by the Corporal, the Sergeant making a note of it and reporting it in his turn to the Lieutenant. If there was time enough before the arrival of the officer, troopers who had sufficient money could go and purchase at the canteen any small articles which were needed to complete their kit (sponges and chamois leathers were especially apt to be stolen from _Volontaires_, as it was impossible to identify such articles). At five minutes to two we all had to be ready at the foot of our beds; and the Sergeant-major passed through the room to make sure that everything was in order, and every trooper properly attired. A quarter of an hour later the cry of "_Fixe!_" (Attention) was uttered by the trooper standing nearest to the door. This announced the arrival of an officer. The first to come was the Lieutenant of our _peloton_, a stout, middle-aged man, who spoke through his nose. He carefully turned over the clothes on each man's bed, distributing here and there a few days of _Salle de Police_. When my turn came he looked at me. "So that's you?" he remarked. "Yes, sir," I replied. "Impertinent as usual," he went on. "How dare you answer me?" "I beg your pardon, sir," I replied. "I thought you had questioned me." "Oh, you did, did you?" "Yes, sir." "Well, don't think another time. I don't like troopers who think. You've got no business to think. D'ye hear?" "Yes, sir." "What? Don't you understand me? I tell you not to answer. Do you understand?" Warned by what he had just told me, I shut up. Whereupon the Lieutenant, turning towards the Sergeant, remarked, "Sulky brute, that fellow." "Are all your things there?" he then asked me. "Yes, sir, I think so." "You think! You always think. I told you not to think. You have no business to think. That's always the result of too much education. These lazy dogs of _Volontaires_, they are always thinking. Troopers have no business to think." Continuing to mutter peevishly, the Lieutenant proceeded to overhaul my things while I stolidly stood at attention, at the foot of my bed. "Look here, you--what's-your-name, what's the fellow's name?" he grumbled to himself, looking at the placard hanging at the head of my bed, on which my name and regimental number was written.