"Of course it is," returned the grenadier; "but that is all one to
me."

"Very well then, if die you must, isn't it better to sell your life
for a pretty woman, and stand a chance of going back to France again?"

"I would rather go to sleep," said one of the men, dropping down into
the snow; "and if you worry me again, major, I shall stick my
toasting-iron into your body."

"What is it all about, sir?" asked the grenadier. "The man's drunk. He
is a Parisian, and likes to lie in the lap of luxury."

"You shall have these, good fellow," said the major, holding out a
riviere of diamonds, "if you will follow me and fight like a madman.
The Russians are not ten minutes away; they have horses; we will march
up to the nearest battery and carry off two stout ones."

"How about the sentinels, major?"

"One of us three--" he began; then he turned from the soldier and
looked at the aide-de-camp.--"You are coming, aren't you, Hippolyte?"

Hippolyte nodded assent.

"One of us," the major went on, "will look after the sentry. Besides,
perhaps those blessed Russians are also fast asleep."

"All right, major; you are a good sort! But will you take me in your
carriage?" asked the grenadier.