Large tears gathered in the poor veteran's faded eyes, and rolled down
his withered cheeks. This outlook of difficulties discouraged him. The
social and the legal world weighed on his breast like a nightmare.

"I will go to the foot of the Vendome column!" he cried. "I will call
out: 'I am Colonel Chabert who rode through the Russian square at
Eylau!'--The statue--he--he will know me."

"And you will find yourself in Charenton."

At this terrible name the soldier's transports collapsed.

"And will there be no hope for me at the Ministry of War?"

"The war office!" said Derville. "Well, go there; but take a formal
legal opinion with you, nullifying the certificate of your death. The
government offices would be only too glad if they could annihilate the
men of the Empire."

The Colonel stood for a while, speechless, motionless, his eyes fixed,
but seeing nothing, sunk in bottomless despair. Military justice is
ready and swift; it decides with Turk-like finality, and almost always
rightly. This was the only justice known to Chabert. As he saw the
labyrinth of difficulties into which he must plunge, and how much
money would be required for the journey, the poor old soldier was
mortally hit in that power peculiar to man, and called the Will. He
thought it would be impossible to live as party to a lawsuit; it
seemed a thousand times simpler to remain poor and a beggar, or to
enlist as a trooper if any regiment would pass him.