"As you see," replied the other with his mouth full.

"Excuse me then. For if I had known that you would like the bread, I would
not have thrown it away."

"It does not harm it," replied the soldier, "I am not dainty."

"No matter," said the gentleman, "it was wrong to do so, and I reproach
myself. But I do not wish you to have a bad opinion of me, and as I have
some old cognac in my can, let us drink a drop together."

The man had finished eating. The duke and he drank a mouthful of brandy;
the acquaintance was made.

"What is your name?" asked the soldier of the line.

"Hardimont," replied the duke, omitting his title. "And yours?"

"Jean-Victor--I have just entered this company--I am just out of the
ambulance--I was wounded at Châtillon--oh! but it was good in the
ambulance, and in the infirmary they gave me horse bouillon. But I had
only a scratch, and the major signed my dismissal. So much the worse for
me! Now I am going to commence to be devoured by hunger again--for,
believe me, if you will, comrade, but, such as you see me, I have been
hungry all my life."

The words were startling, especially to a Sybarite who had just been
longing for the kitchen of the Café-Anglais, and the Duc de Hardimont
looked at his companion in almost terrified amazement. The soldier smiled