troubles was a secret between himself and God.

"Come, march!" he added. "If you once sit down, it is all over with
you."

"I can't help it, Philip! It is such an old habit in a magistrate! I
am dead beat, upon my honor. If I had only bagged one hare though!"

Two men more different are seldom seen together. The civilian, a man
of forty-two, seemed scarcely more than thirty; while the soldier, at
thirty years of age, looked to be forty at the least. Both wore the
red rosette that proclaimed them to be officers of the Legion of
Honor. A few locks of hair, mingled white and black, like a magpie's
wing, had strayed from beneath the Colonel's cap; while thick, fair
curls clustered about the magistrate's temples. The Colonel was tall,
spare, dried up, but muscular; the lines in his pale face told a tale
of vehement passions or of terrible sorrows; but his comrade's jolly
countenance beamed with health, and would have done credit to an
Epicurean. Both men were deeply sunburnt. Their high gaiters of brown
leather carried souvenirs of every ditch and swamp that they crossed
that day.

"Come, come," cried M. de Sucy, "forward! One short hour's march, and
we shall be at Cassan with a good dinner before us."

"You never were in love, that is positive," returned the Councillor,
with a comically piteous expression. "You are as inexorable as Article
304 of the Penal Code!"

Philip de Sucy shuddered violently. Deep lines appeared in his broad