eated it before I could make up my mind.

"'Is there nothing, then, in which I can be of use to Corporal Pioche?'

"'Yes, mon general,' said I, 'there is.'

"'Speak it out, man, then; what is it?'

"'I wish, then, you 'd rate the commissary-general of our division for
one blunder he's ever making. The powder they serve us out is always
wet, and our bread is as hard as _mitraille_. Neither bayonets nor teeth
will last forever, you know, General.' And he burst out a-laughing
before I finished.

"'Rest assured, Pioche, I'll look to this,' said he; and he kept his
word."

"But why didn't you ask for promotion?" said I. "What folly, was it not,
to throw away such a chance? You might have been an officer ere this."

"No," replied he, with a sorrowful shake of the head; "that was
impossible."

"But why so? Bonaparte knew you well; he often noticed you."

"True; all true," said he, more sadly than before. "But then--"

"What, then?" asked I, with more of interest than delicacy at the
moment.

"I never learned to read," said Pioche, in a low voice, which trembled
with agitation, while he drew his swarthy hand across his eyes, and was
silent.

The few words so spoken thrilled most powerfully within me. I saw that I
had awakened the saddest thoughts of the poor fellow's heart, and would
have given worlds to be able to recall my question. Here, then, was the
corroding sorrow of his life,--the grief that left its impress on his
stern features, and tinged with care the open brow of the brave soldier.
Each moment our silence was prolonged made it still more poignant, but I
made an effort to break it, and happily with success.

"After all, Pioche," said I, laying my hand on his arm, "I would
willingly exchange my epaulettes for these stripes on your sleeve,
to have had Bonaparte speak to me as he has spoken to you; that was a
prouder distinction than any other, and will be a fonder recollection,
too, hereafter."

"Do you think so, mon lieutenant?" said the poor fellow, turning round
quickly, as a faint smile played about his features--"do you think so?
_Sacristi!_ I have said as much to myself sometimes, when I've been
alone. And then I 've almost thought I could hear his kind, soft voice
ringing in my ears; for it is kind and soft as a woman's, when
he pleases, though, parbleu! it can call like a trumpet at other
times,--ay, and tingle within your heart till it sets your blood boiling
and makes your hands twitch. I m