conscript.

By often contemplating these two figures, so different in expression, and
so true to life, both have become living in my eyes; I have seen them
move, I have heard them speak; the picture has become a real scene, at
which I am present as spectator.

The veteran advances slowly, his hand leaning on the shoulder of the
young soldier. His eyes, closed for ever, no longer perceive the sun
shining through the flowering chestnut-trees. In the place of his right
arm hangs an empty sleeve, and he walks with a wooden leg, the sound of
which on the pavement makes those who pass turn to look.

At the sight of this ancient wreck from our patriotic wars, the greater
number shake their heads in pity, and I seem to hear a sigh or an
imprecation.

"See the worth of glory!" says a portly merchant, turning away his eyes
in horror.

"What a deplorable use of human life!" rejoins a young man who carries a
volume of philosophy under his arm.

"The trooper would better not have left his plow," adds a countryman,
with a cunning air.

"Poor old man!" murmurs a woman, almost crying.

The veteran has heard, and he knits his brow; for it seems to him that
his guide has grown thoughtful. The latter, attracted by what he hears