Buche and I slept that night in a little room, with a Holy Virgin and infant Jesus in a niche between the curtains over our heads, and we rested like the blessed in heaven. The next morning, instead of keeping on our way, we were so glad to sit on a comfortable chair in the kitchen, to stretch our legs and smoke our pipes as we watched the kettles boiling, that we said, "Let us stay quietly here. To-morrow we shall be well rested, and we will buy two pairs of linen pantaloons, and two blouses, we will cut two good sticks from a hedge, and go home by easy stages." The thought of these pleasant plans touched us. And it was from this inn that I wrote to Catherine and Aunt Gredel and Mr. Goulden. I wrote only a word: "I have escaped, let us thank God, I am coming, I embrace you a thousand times with all my heart. "JOSEPH BERTHA." I thanked God as I wrote, but a great many things were to happen before I should mount our staircase at the corner of the rue Fouquet opposite the "Red Ox." When one has been taken by conscription he must not be in a hurry to write that he is released. That happiness does not depend upon us, and the best will in the world helps nothing. I sent off my letter by the post, and we stayed all that day at the inn of the "Golden Sheep." After we had eaten a good supper, we went up to our beds, and I said to Buche, "Ha! Jean, to do what you please is quite a different thing from being forced to respond to the roll-call." We both laughed in spite of the misfortunes of the country, of course without thinking, otherwise we should have been veritable rascals. For the second time we went to sleep in our good bed, when about one o'clock in the morning we were wakened in a most extraordinary manner: the drums were beating and we heard men marching all over the village. I pushed Jean, and he said, "I hear it, the Prussians are outside." You cannot imagine our terror, but it was much worse a moment after; some one knocked at the door of the inn, and it opened; in a moment the great hall was full of people. Some one came up the stairs. We had both got up, and Buche said, "I shall defend myself if they try to take me." I dared not think what I was going to do. We were almost dressed, and I was hoping to escape in the darkness without being recognized, when suddenly there was a knock at the door and a shout, "Open." We were obliged to open it. An infantry officer, wet through by the rain, with his great blue cloak thrown over his epaulettes, followed by an old sergeant with a lantern, came in. We recognized them as Frenchmen, and the officer asked brusquely, "Where do you come from?" "From Mont-St.-Jean, lieutenant," I replied. "From what regiment are you?" "From the Sixth light infantry," I answered. He looked at the number on my shako, which was lying on the table, and at the same time I saw that his number was also the Sixth. "From which battalion are you?" said he, knitting his brows. "The third."