sounded. Another, near at hand, replied, and then a third,
in the remote distance, took up the strain. Presently there was a
universal blaring, far and near, throughout the camp, whereon Gaude,
the bugler of the company, took up his instrument. He was a tall, lank,
beardless, melancholy youth, chary of his words, saving his breath for
his calls, which he gave conscientiously, with the vigor of a young
hurricane.

Forthwith Sergeant Sapin, a ceremonious little man with large vague
eyes, stepped forward and began to call the roll. He rattled off the
names in a thin, piping voice, while the men, who had come up and ranged
themselves in front of him, responded in accents of varying pitch, from
the deep rumble of the violoncello to the shrill note of the piccolo.
But there came a hitch in the proceedings.

"Lapoulle!" shouted the sergeant, calling the name a second time with
increased emphasis.

There was no response, and Jean rushed off to the place where Private
Lapoulle, egged on by his comrades, was industriously trying to fan the
refractory fuel into a blaze; flat on his stomach before the pile
of blackening, spluttering wood, his face resembling an underdone
beefsteak, the warrior was now propelling dense clouds of smoke
horizontally along the surface of the plain.

"Thunder and ouns! Quit that, will you!" yelled Jean, "and come and
answer to your name."

Lapoulle rose to his feet with a dazed look on his face, then appeared
to grasp the situation and yelled: "Present!" in such stentorian tones
that Loubet, pretending to be upset by the concussion, sank to the
ground in a sitting posture. Pache had finished mending his trousers and
answered in a voice that was barely audible, that sounded more like
the mumbling of a prayer. Chouteau, not even troubling himself to rise,
grunted his answer unconcernedly and turned over on his side.

Lieutenant Rochas, the officer of the guard, was meantime standing a few
steps away, motionlessly awaiting the conclusion of the ceremony. When
Sergeant Sapin had finished calling the roll and came up to report that
all were present, the officer, with a glance at Weiss, who was still
conversing with Maurice, growled from under his mustache:

"Yes, and one over. What is that civilian doing here?"

"He has the colonel's pass, Lieutenant," explained Jean, who had heard
the question.

Rochas made no reply; he shrugged his shoulders disapprovingly and
resumed his round among the compan