inch by inch, the female procession towards the bakery in which the
morsel of bread for their infants was doled out.

"_Hist, mon ami_," said a deep voice beside Lemercier. "Look at those
women, and do not wound their ears by a jest."

Lemercier, offended by that rebuke, though too susceptible to good
emotions not to recognise its justice, tried with feeble fingers to turn
up his moustache, and to turn a defiant crest upon the rebuker. He was
rather startled to see the tall martial form at his side, and to
recognise Victor de Mauleon. "Don't you think, M. Lemercier," resumed
the Vicomte, half sadly, "that these women are worthy of better husbands
and sons than are commonly found among the soldiers whose uniform we
wear?"

"The National Guard! You ought not to sneer at them, Vicomte,--you whose
troop covered itself with glory on the great days of Villiers and
Champigny,--you in whose praise even the grumblers of Paris became
eloquent, and in whom a future Marshal of France is foretold."

"But, alas! more than half of my poor troop was left on the battle-field,
or is now wrestling for mangled remains of life in the ambulances. And
the new recruits with which I took the field on the 21st are not likely
to cover themselves with glory, or to insure their commander the baton of
a marshal."

"Ay, I heard when I was in the hospital that you had publicly shamed some
of these recruits, and declared that you would rather resign than lead
them again to battle."