em, they shone like a radiant vision of
glory emblazoned on the heavens, soon to fade and vanish from the sight.
Water was dripping from the gilded eagle, and the tattered, shot-riddled
tri-color, on which were embroidered the names of former victories, was
stained and its bright hues dimmed by the smoke of many a battlefield;
the sole bit of brilliant color in all the faded splendor was the
enameled cross of honor that was attached to the _cravate_.

Another billow of vapor came scurrying up from the river, enshrouding in
its fleecy depths colonel, standard, and all, and the battalion passed
on, whitherward no one could tell. First their route had conducted them
over descending ground, now they were climbing a hill. On reaching the
summit the command, halt! started at the front and ran down the column;
the men were cautioned not to leave the ranks, arms were ordered, and
there they remained, the heavy knapsacks forming a grievous burden to
weary shoulders. It was evident that they were on a plateau, but to
discern localities was out of the question; twenty paces was the extreme
range of vision. It was now seven o'clock; the sound of firing reached
them more distinctly, other batteries were apparently opening on Sedan
from the opposite bank.

"Oh! I," said Sergeant Sapin with a start, addressing Jean and Maurice,
"I shall be killed to-day."

It was the first time he had opened his lips that morning; an expression
of dreamy melancholy had rested on his thin face, with its big, handsome
eyes and thin, pinched nose.

"What an idea!" Jean exclaimed; "who can tell what is going to happen
him? Every bullet has its billet, they say, but you stand no worse
chance than the rest of us."

"Oh, but me--I am as good as dead now. I tell you I shall be killed
to-day."

The near files turned and looked at him curiously, asking him if he had
had a dream. No, he had dreamed nothing, but he felt it; it was there.

"And it is a pity, all the same, because I was to be married when I got
my discharge."

A vague expression came into his eyes again; his past life rose before
him. He was the son of a small retail grocer at Lyons, and had been
petted and spoiled by his mother up to the time of her death; then
rejecting the proffer of his father, with whom he did not hit it off
well, to assist in purchasing his discharge, he had remained with the
army, weary and disgusted with life and with his surroundings. Coming
home on furlough, how