hem with mournful,
compassionate interest, the blush of shame rose to Maurice's cheek, he
hung his head and a bitter taste came to his mouth.

Jean, whose epidermis was thicker and mind more practical, thought only
of their stupidity in not having brought off with them a loaf of bread
apiece. In the hurry of their abrupt departure they had even gone off
without breakfasting, and hunger soon made its presence felt by the
nerveless sensation in their legs. Others among the prisoners appeared
to be in the same boat, for they held out money, begging the people of
the place to sell them something to eat. There was one, an extremely
tall man, apparently very ill, who displayed a gold piece, extending it
above the heads of the soldiers of the escort; and he was almost frantic
that he could purchase nothing. Just at that time Jean, who had been
keeping his eyes open, perceived a bakery a short distance ahead, before
which were piled a dozen loaves of bread; he immediately got his money
ready and, as the column passed, tossed the baker a five-franc piece and
endeavored to secure two of the loaves; then, when the Prussian who
was marching at his side pushed him back roughly into the ranks, he
protested, demanding that he be allowed to recover his money from the
baker. But at that juncture the captain commanding the detachment, a
short, bald-headed man with a brutal expression of face, came hastening
up; he raised his revolver over Jean's head as if about to strike him
with the butt, declaring with an oath that he would brain the first man
that dared to lift a finger. And the rest of the captives continued to
shamble on, stirring up the dust of the road with their shuffling feet,
with eyes averted and shoulders bowed, cowed and abjectly submissive as
a drove of cattle.

"Oh! how good it would seem to slap the fellow's face just once!"
murmured Maurice, as if he meant it. "How I should like to let him have
just one from the shoulder, and drive his teeth down his dirty throat!"

And during the remainder of their march he could not endure to look on
that captain, with his ugly, supercilious face.

They had entered Sedan and were crossing the Pont de Meuse, and the
scenes of violence and brutality became more numerous than ever. A woman
darted forward and would have embraced a boyish young sergeant--likely
she was his mother--and was repulsed with a blow from a musket-butt that
felled her to the ground. On the Place Turenne the gua