picket duty, and six installed at the house of an unknown inhabitant. The
names of the six are: Garens, myself; Pierre de Marchas, Ludovic de
Ponderel, Baron d'Streillis, Karl Massouligny, the painter's son, and
Joseph Herbon, a young musician. I have come to ask you, in their name
and my own, to do us the honor of supping with us. It is an Epiphany
supper, Monsieur le Cure, and we should like to make it a little
cheerful."

The priest smiled and murmured: "It seems to me to be hardly a suitable
occasion for amusing one's self." And I replied: "We are fighting during
the day, monsieur. Fourteen of our comrades have been killed in a month,
and three fell as late as yesterday. It is war time. We stake our life at
every moment; have we not, therefore, the right to amuse ourselves
freely? We are Frenchmen, we like to laugh, and we can laugh everywhere.
Our fathers laughed on the scaffold! This evening we should like to cheer
ourselves up a little, like gentlemen, and not like soldiers; you
understand me, I hope. Are we wrong?"

He replied quickly: "You are quite right, my friend, and I accept your
invitation with great pleasure." Then he called out: "Hermance!"

An old bent, wrinkled, horrible peasant woman appeared and said: "What do
you want?" "I shall not dine at home, my daughter." "Where are you going
to dine then?" "With some gentlemen, the hussars."

I felt inclined to say: "Bring your servant with you," just to see
Marchas' face, but I did not venture, and continued: "Do you know any one
among your parishioners, male or female, whom I could invite as well?" He
hesitated, reflected, and then said: "No, I do not know anybody!"